Arthur & Stella

Friday
Normandy
Dearest,
There’s not a great deal of news today. I was going to tell you more about the place where we are living and working, but as it is a chateau-cum-farmhouse I thought it would provide material for letters to the children. If I don’t save that I will be sunk, for there is little else here to tell them about. They would love the place.
While I remember, there’s a couple of things I’d like you to send. One of them is my A/M badge. Will you put it in your next letter for me, please? You have probably seen our fellows in khaki and wearing a tiddly cap. On their shoulders they wear a flash, Royal Navy, white letters on a blue background. Will you please try to get two for me? One for each shoulder. I don’t know if there are any local shops which sell service badges, but if not will you get them next time you are in town at Millets or the Army & Navy. They should be supplied, of course, but there are none in stock here and I look a bit of a mongrel without them.
Just to ease your mind a bit, we heard the other day that this is now considered a “safe” area and that Wrens are expected out here soon, but I suppose it will be some time before any of our girls come out to relieve us – of our duties I mean. And thinking on those lines makes me think of a story I’ll tell you when the privilege envelope system comes into force here. I’d hate to corrupt the mind of the censor!
Today has been very much like yesterday – a little work, a pleasant swim in the river, which is alive with elvers, fully grown eels, small pike and, I’m told, fluke which come up from the sea, which is of course quite close. The R.E.’s fixed up a couple of small diving boards and though the river is barely as wide as Morningside, you can dive into over six feet of water, which is quite good. The problem is to keep your feet clean once you get out of the water. Today the meadows were lined with rows of fellows in their birthday suits and it struck me once more how a crowd of grown men let loose like this just becomes great schoolboys. They had a great old time and it was good to see them skylarking. One soldier, a man of about 40, was just learning to swim and he had the heart of a lion the way he struck out into midstream when he could barely swim a yard!
Did I tell you that they showed ‘Millions Like Us’ in one of the marquees here this week, but the weather is too nice for me to be tempted into the cinema, even a canvas one. A couple of weeks ago, George Formby was here, I believe. If we are here for the winter, I’m hoping there will be some improvement for once the novelty has worn off and the bad weather sets in, life will be pretty deadly. Dhobi-ing will be one of the major problems of life then, I’m afraid, for there will be nowhere to dry it.
I’m afraid this is a rather scrappy and domestic letter today but, as is nearly always the case when I’ve just been drafted somewhere, I have not settled down mentally, but I will be much more settled when I begin receiving your letters. Those coming via London take a couple of days longer than those which come through Reading, I believe, so I’m not looking for a letter from you before Monday at the very earliest and possibly not until Wednesday. After that I’ll be watching eagerly.
I’m missing your letters a lot, dearest, so I hope you will try to keep up a fairly steady flow. Let me know if your story was accepted, won’t you? I’ll be interested to hear the fate of all your writings, so keep me informed.
Well, sweet, it’s almost dark and we have no light of any sort in the tent so I’ll have to stop now. Night, love. My love to the children when you get up in the morning. And all my love to you, dearest.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Monday
Normandy
Dearest,
From now on I’ll write on one side of the paper only so that if the censor has to clip anything out he won’t make a hash of both sides of the page. Thought I’d better explain that point.
Glory be – I’ve had a letter from you today and as that came via London in five days it did fairly well, so now I’m hoping I’ll get letters fairly regularly. Many thanks for all the news in it and I’m glad to hear that you had such a good time at the Hospital Fair. Michael is coming on well in regard to all his past phobias, isn’t he, and I’m glad to hear of his latest exploit on the pony. I wonder if there will be any chance of anything like that in Wales when you go? Altogether the Rotary seem to have made a good job of the whole show. They normally do, don’t they? Is there anyone we know in that stunt, or has Crosby its own Rotary Club? I never know if they formed one of their own or not. So you haven’t lost your news sense! I’m glad to see it and hope ‘Picture Post’ will take up the suggestion. I should say that if they do everything will depend upon the attitude of the mother of this child. The father, being a Yank, will most probably be used to the idea of big screams in the Press, but she might not. By the time you get this you’ll probably have done the story. From what you say you have done, I don’t see that there is anything you have overlooked. Dave simply has no news sense so if he does go on the story, watch him and bully him into getting the proper “angles”. He’s very stubborn you know. Tommy Ridgeway would have been much better and in any case Dave wants kicking to death for not getting the pictures himself in the first place. The line to take with the mother of this child is that people like Learie Constantine make sacrifices and struggle to remove the colour bar and everyone concerned must do the same. If ‘Picture Post’ don’t use it, try to find the London address of ‘Life’ or one of the other American illustrateds and they may take it. Anyway, I’ll be interested to know what Hulton’s say. You should get at least a civil answer from them and you have broken the ice in another direction. Nice work, love. Keep it up.
Now I think that is all there is to answer in your letter except to say that on my way back to London I was lucky to get a seat but did so and slept part of the way down. I didn’t go to the Blundellsands for a drink, but caught the L2 in the fond hope that it was going into town! I had to get off at Seaforth and just missed a train, which left 30 minutes to wait so I had a drink there then went on to the office, where I found Hughie acting as chief sub as Evans is on holiday. I’m glad he has got that break for he is a good worker and full of enthusiasm. He thinks I’m certain to get an ‘Echo’ job so let us hope he is right! At the club I just had a drink with Vic and the lad who is doing my job and then I had to scoot for the train. By the way, Vic was riding a bicycle with Muriel on the back and she put her foot through the wheel, with the result she had to have her heel stitched. As a father he makes a fine quarryman!
I have been over to the river for an hour or so the last couple of evenings and the greater part of my “catch” has been eels, but last night I got a small plaice! The natives and the lads who know the river well say that there are a lot of them, but this is the first I have seen. If I only had a decent rod I’d enjoy my fishing more, so I shall have to see what I can get in the shop here in the way of a long cane. Yesterday was early closing – so early that they don’t bother opening at all – and today is some Saint’s Day; Joan of Arc’s nativity, I think. I must go all devout RC for it’s a great loafing alibi in this country! Remind me some time.
We have begun watch-keeping properly today for the first time, for until now we have been arranging our hours more or less to suit ourselves, but now we work four hours on and four hours off from 0800 to midnight seven days a week. We’ll have to see about an occasional day off soon!
Well, love, there’s nothing more to say today. Things are fairly quiet here and life is going to be a bit ’um-drum I think, but we will probably settle down to it and I might even do some reading. There is a French class here so I must see about joining. It will help pass the time, but apart from a couple of kids who speak very good English already, there’s no one to practise on!
Look after yourself, sweetheart, and let me know all the news of your stories and articles, of the allotment and of the children. Give them my love and tell them I will write soon. All my love to you, dearest.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Friday
Normandy
Dearest,
Better now! Today has been one of those “muggy” days again and as the tide was out and the river low when I came off watch, I had to be content with a cold bath in a petrol tin, but you have no idea how good that can be! And now, though it is nearly six o’clock, I’m sun-bathing again in just my shift. This is just the weather I like and it takes a lot of it to spoil me! For things to be perfect, of course, I should be enjoying this at home during demobilization leave. As the real sailors say, “roll on my twelve”!
I spent part of the first watch today turning out a “dummy” of the paper and the Major of Marines who is camp commandant was most enthusiastic when he saw it. I doped it up with a couple of maps and though it contained only the same information as a short official bulletin on the board, it did look better. Tomorrow I think I’ll start in earnest and if I can I’ll save the first couple of copies to show you how crude it really is! The Major has promised to get a board made for us and he’s also going to see if we can get a phone call through each day to some place here which dishes out information for forces publications. If that can be managed we can get a flying start of seven or eight hours on the present times. If it arouses any real interest I’ll invite brief contributions from some of the lads with the object of trying to discover, as we most probably will, someone with the ability to sketch decently and so we might be able to run a series of cartoons of camp personalities.
Tomorrow we are to have an Ensa show with Forsythe, Seamon & Farrell as chief artistes, and as I shall be off watch I’m looking forward to it. One day I’m going to get Dalton to agree to some change of our watches so that we can both go to the local Ensa. I’d like to see Delysia on her native soil. I’m told it is a very good show. Last night I looked in at the cinema for ten minutes to see a film of the invasion preparations and it was very good indeed. I’d like to see 20,000 or 30,000 feet of the official films which must have been taken of the actual event. Now THEY would be enthralling.
I have written to Bert as this was the second letter I’ve had without replying and if I let correspondence accumulate here it will never be answered! In it I told him that I wouldn’t be surprised if we finish the remainder of this war paying short visits to different places. Somehow, though there’s nothing to back this up, I’ve a feeling “in me water” that we will not be here very long. I may be wrong, of course, but if I am right I shan’t mind so long as we don’t keep losing our leave all along the line as we seem to have done so far. In fact if we can get fairly normal leave I’ll welcome a life of fairly frequent change. Saves you from going “dead”. However, we’ll have to wait and see, though I’ll be surprised if we are here another six weeks. Even if we came home tomorrow it is another year when we have had neither summer nor Xmas leave. Talk about being browned off on the leave question! Tot-time is a great time for the airing of opinions and grievances and the lads did themselves proud tonight on the question of leave and future drafts, and I really enjoyed myself. We have the best killick I have met in any mess, a fellow in his forties with a patriarchal beard who looks and acts “father” to everyone. Just as the circle was breaking up to go on watch he made a pontifical announcement. “Anyone who is here in September will get leave,” he said, and stalked out leaving them all dumbfounded, for the place is alive with buzzes and though you won’t appreciate the implication, all the lads did. I was highly amused at the timing and dignity of the pronouncement, for it left the lads flat. Dalton and I are the interlopers in this mess, for nearly all of them except us have been through the mill together since D-Day, which creates an intangible bond impossible to counterfeit no matter how good a fellow you may be. I’m often conscious of these invisible barriers, just as I knew, as a kid, that they existed between men after the last war. These bonds are strange but strong and real products of war. You know it in the almost pitying light in which you regard anyone from, say, North Wales who talks about the horrors of the Blitz, having viewed it from the slopes of Moel Famman while comfortably ensconced in motor rugs and fortified with flasks of rum and coffee!
All of which digression boils down to the fact that there are more buzzes than that about leave beginning next month. Even if it was true, I don’t know where we would come in as “on loan” ratings. Probably nowhere, as at Dover.
And now, having ridden several hobbyhorses to death, I’ll say “night night”. No letter from you yesterday and none today so there’s nothing outstanding to which I have to reply. If the price I have to pay for your visits to Limedale is two letterless days then I’m going to take a damn poor view of Limedale! And talking of letters from wives, when we were at Dover, Dalton got a few from his wife and then they ceased altogether so Dalton was returned to London, though it subsequently transpired that she had nothing the matter with her. This time he has gone one better – he has had no letters at all! And I’ll lay even money he’s going to try the same stunt again and, as this is a new station, he’ll probably get away with it once more. God knows what story he will pitch this time.
And that really is all the news for now. I’m anxious to hear the state of your health though there’s been no mention of it in your letters so far! Let me know as soon as your suspicions are aroused, if indeed they are ever aroused! Take good care of yourself, sweet, and all my love to you.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Sunday
Normandy
Dearest,
First of all I think I’d better say thank you for the steady arrival of letters now. I’m getting them fairly regularly two days after you post them, which is really quite good.
So you are still without your evacuee? You will be fed to the back teeth with all this messing about, I expect. Are you sorry that you ever volunteered to take one now?
The man in the Forsythe, Seamon & Farrell combination had a good stunt which I meant to mention yesterday. Half way through the programme he devoted a couple of minutes to answering questions about home which he invited the lads to ask. They professedly wanted to set the minds of Londoners at ease about the Doodlebugs, but nobody asked about them! So he had to introduce the subject himself and did a bit of propaganda. Incidentally, the pianiste of this show came from Lewisham – scene of the biggest Doodlebug disaster and close to Tom Oliver’s place – which was as good an excuse as any for me speaking to her! She tells me that practically everyone who is likely to evacuate has already evacuated from Streatham, Lewisham and Catford areas.
I can imagine Mother’s reaction to the Eaton Avenue evacuees and to the other woman you mention. Neither enthusiasm will last long. Thanks for all the gardening news. Things seem to be doing well this year and I only hope your tommies will not be looted while you’re away. If this warm weather continues, you may get a good crop from those Stonors after all. I hope you do, anyway.
Whenever we do get leave, unless the weather is really hopeless, I’d like to take Michael off for a day’s fishing. As you say, I don’t think Wendy would be really interested but I think Michael will be. Tell Michael I’ll tell him what all that fishing tackle is for when I come home.
Thanks for the “homework”, love. I was able to decipher it OK, but my own French is so bad that I’m in no position to criticise your French grammar. I can read things well enough to understand the general meaning, though not to appreciate the finer shades of distinction. My great difficulty is to find someone on whom I can practise speaking.
Thanks for Dot’s letter. It’s impossible to be certain from it what the Doodlebugs are really like, but it sounds as if they are much the same as when we were there. That’s about the third move her office has made in the last two or three months. By now they should have my address for I wrote them a few days ago. The letter she enclosed, by the way, was from Frank Paterson. He is in Pompey barracks and was probably there when we passed through on our way here! He sends his regards to you and the family. He was on HMS Saumarez for the invasion but has now left her for some reason and he is so chokka that he has asked for a draft! They were here for five weeks and from the few things he says I gather it was pretty tough. HMS Swift, the loss of which has been announced, was one of their flotilla so it seems things must have been pretty warm, to say the least of it. Frank hasn’t heard from Percy though he wrote months ago. Little Eric Wheelhouse, the microscopic Lancashire lad who was at Aberdeen, has been torpedoed and was last heard of in South Africa.
And that, I think, is about all the news of interest to you in his letter, except that with memories of Aberdeen he is suffering from the illusion that I can drink. It will take me six months’ solid hard practice to get back to my former ability in that direction. At a bob a pint the ‘Daily Post’ will have to treble my salary!
I think that’s about all there is to be answered in your letter and there is not a great deal of news from here. I’m getting the ‘Courseulles Courant’ out every day now, though it’s a modest effort so far and I don’t propose to enlarge it at all until we get our own notice board. Very cunningly I cut the Jane cartoon from the ‘Mirror’ each day so it satisfies my ego to see little knots of people round the board. No doubt they are looking at Jane but it is quite impressive if you get a dozen fellows looking over each others’ shoulders.
We are having a good deal of trouble with the flies these days – in fact there’s quite a plague of them and some of the lads have quite big bites, especially fair-skinned people. If you were here you’d be bitten to death, I know. So far they have not affected me a great deal; they never do, though they sometimes find the most embarrassing places in which to bite!
Well, love, that’s about all the news though I must say I’m rather anxiously looking for the V sign on one of your letters now! I know how you feel on this subject but you’ll soon have to be discussing pros and cons won’t you?
I have been avoiding the privilege envelopes because I’m told they take longer, so if there is a gap in my letters you will understand I have taken a chance on one of them. Perhaps you will make a point of letting me know how long one of those letters takes as against an ordinary one, will you?
Now I must be off, love, for I’ve some work to do and then I’ll try to get Frank’s letter answered between 8 and midnight. In the next day or two I must also write to Eric and Lilian. What did Eric think of your article, by the way? One thing I like about him is that he is an honest and constructive critic.
Will Wendy and Michael be writing soon? Give them my love. I hope they got my letters. Bye for now and all my love, dearest.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Monday
Normandy
Dear Lilian & Eric,
It was a very pleasant surprise indeed to get your letter today for I did not expect you to have my address. Mother’s holiday date was so uncertain that I rather thought, after I had sent it, that my letter would arrive after she had left. Anyway, many thanks for the letter and enclosure for mail is just about the most important thing once you leave home. The lads will stand (to a certain extent!) for grub of doubtful lineage when mail is coming through well, as ours is now, but let the mail go astray and they drip so much that half of them die of pneumonia!
About this trip at the government’s expense. I must confess I was a bit disappointed in my first reactions, but that may have been because, as you will have gathered from my letter to Mother, we all took a rather jaundiced view of life in the first few hours ashore. We were hot and thirsty and for two hours we sat on a rusty jetty watching pongos (soldiers to you) drink pint mugs of tea! Then we loaded our gear on to a truck, climbed on, and held on despite the best efforts of the driver to dislodge me from my precarious seat on top of a pile of baggage by the old fashioned trick of driving under overhanging hedges. Normany roads are not surfaced with anything more solid than dust which, in hot weather is turned into an impenetrable yellow fog, and in winter or wet weather to yellow clinging mud, which leads to congestion and confusion on these narrow apologies for roads! No, I’m not biased – not much! To add to all this perfomance, the P.O. in charge decided, after we had driven a few miles, that we had better get our gear off the lorry while he went down to pic up other stuff at another jetty. We waited there an hour and a half in the sun and then he discovered this was a one-way jetty so we loaded up again. By the time we got here and found that we had to wait until 7.30 for supper (having had dinner aboard at 11.30 a.m.!) we were, in naval argot, proper chokka! A very restrained expression, all things considered. As I say, this inevitably led to a certain lack of enthusiasm on my part in the early stages.
Since I have been here I have not been out into the town a lot. It’s funny you should mention Wickham in your letter, for this place has a superficial resemblance to it, perhaps because of the square which even now is populated with civvy workmen digging there and even a man who might have been a British Post Office inspecting engineer! So altogether the resemblance to Wickham as I saw it is rather strong.
In fairness to the French, I doubt whether any view I formulate here would be really representative of the experiences of the people of the whole country and their reaction to those experiences. This place is a country-cum-seaside town – small, at that – and I’m sorry I can’t think of an English equivalent. I should say that in peacetime it was quite popular with the lower middle classes – it isn’t Rhyl and yet it isn’t a “snooty” exclusive place. As I see it, the people here had little hardship in the 1939–40 phase of the war and certainly none of the physical horror of war. In the course of four years of German occupation there is no doubt that many of the people became very friendly with the occupying troops and some even married them, just as some of the German girls married our fellows in the last war. From what I can gather, the Germans behaved fairy well and spent quite a lot of money here with more, many more, francs to the £ than we give. That was the set-up here for nearly four years. Then came the threat and finally the actual invasion. They were suddenly plunged into violent war. Some fled; some stayed and let the tide of war flow over them; some must inevitably have been killed though how many I don’t know; some had their houses and/or business premises knocked about badly and their possessions ruined; some who had been active or passive collaborationists were ridiculed and reviled in the first days of “loyal” triumphs. Finally, agressive war rolled beyond them (actually, in quite a few days, though those days were hectic) and those who were left had to pick up the threads of life again. And that was, roughly, the position when we got here. The day after we arrived I went for a brief look around and, though it was during normal day time hours, I was surprised how few natives there were on the streets and most of them were tradesmen – the milkman bowling along in what loked like a small trotting car, with a bell tinkling cheerfully at every jolt, and there were plenty of those! All through that walk I felt uneasy. There were lots of our service people about and I’m used to a predominance of service folk in garrison towns, but overall there seemed to be a stealthy atmosphere. And then I got it. In upstairs windows you would see people, including quite a few men, looking almost furtively out on to the street, as if they had no right to do so. “Dammit,” I thought, “this is their town. Why be so furtive?” It annoyed me! Then, looking through windows of living rooms or sitting rooms on the ground floor, you would see somebody with a paper in their hands. But they weren’t reading it until they saw you glance in as you walked past.
All of this is probably very jumbled to you, but they were my impressions at the time and I felt little inclination to go out into the town after that. I mentioned these things to some of our fellows and they said that natives are far better now than they were at the beginning. However, I have been out a few times since and though the place has lost some of its uneasy air (probably through being more familiar with it) I find very little of the French volatile courtesy. People in the shops for the most part do business with you quite normally, but there is none of the good humoured banter over language difficulties which I expected. I should sum it up by saying they are civil – nothing more and nothing less. Trying to be honest, I don’t know that we can really blame them or expect any great enthusiasm. You know what an army of invaders is like and there must have been a good deal of petty pilfering and wilful damage. There has been, to my own knowledge, in houses requisitioned at home so there’s bound to have been here. That sort of thing at the hands of a “liberating” army these people had probably never asked for, wouldn’t make them over jovial, would it?
All that is a fairly accurate picture of my impressions of the place and people and I haven’t drawn any final decision until I either see more of these people or the people in other parts of France. I’ll be interested to hear what you think of what I have told you.
On the lighter side – though most of the lads regard it as the darker side – I have found no evidence of the estaminet or other “houses” which played so large a part in the life of the troops in the last war. I’m told that everything drinkable was either removed by Jerry or consumed by our lads as they went through in successive waves before we arrived. I have seen one or two Yanks sozzled and I’m told that stuff is available at the back door if you know the right back door! As part of my education here I’m going to pay a back door visit, but what I would have enjoyed was finding a quiet Norman pub and having a few ciders with the locals. It seems the drink round here is either cider or wine when there’s anything to drink. There are lots of cider orchards here and the apples are not very pleasant to eat. Right at the back of our office window there’s quite a big orchard, though I don’t know if the cider will ever be made.
We have a two-night cinema show every week and there’s an Ensa show in the town, though our hours on watch prevent us from going. We had a visiting Ensa show on Saturday – open air – and it was quite good. Later on they are going to open a big Naafi in the town and work on it is already progressing well. There is a dining room–concert room (quite big) and a beer bar with plush seats which look as if they have been looted from a blitzed London pub! Maybe in the dim and distant future we will get draught beer!
With what I have already written to Mother, I think that gives you as full a picture of life here as the censor will allow. Many thanks for the offer of a rod, but I doubt whether it would reach here. I have written and asked Bert to drop my rods at Mother’s some time, together with my reels etc, and if I get any leave from here I’ll bring them over. Actually I have done very little fishing since we began watch-keeping, for our hours are difficult and so far there is no arrangement for any free time during the day, though we have every night in bed. In addition, I have started a wall-newspaper which is exhibited on a board here. So far I have gone very quietly but later, when we get a board to ourselves, I want to extend it, so that will take up a fair amount of my “spare” time. Our resources at the moment are limited to a typewriter (when it is not being used), one BBC news bulletin a day and maps and cartoons (especially Jane) from the previous day’s papers. But people seem to read it and find it better than the brief official bulletin which used to be pinned up.
Many thanks for your offer of things I might like. Don’t bother sending cigarettes as we get a fairly good allowance of duty free ones and will also draw a pound of cigarette tobacco for 2/8 at the beginning of each month. So I’m really very well off in that respect. Newspapers we get every day and they are only 24 hours old, but if you have any influence with one of those organisations which sends bundles of magazines they will always be welcome, though these days I do very little reading myself apart from keeping up to date with the war news, as I feel I have to do now. By the time I have done eight hours on watch, had three meals, done a few odd jobs in the mess such as peeling spuds for dinner or supper, written to Stella and perhaps one other letter, and perhaps washed some clothes, I feel the day is fairly full – and that doesn’t take into account any time I may spend on producing my daily “masterpiece”! Still, time well filled passes fairly quickly, though I should like some leisure in which to look round a bit and possibly get to one or two of the neighbouring places, or try to find someone on whom I could practise my alleged French. Once or twice I have tried to inveigle into conversation a little French boy of about 8 or 9, but he is usually too busy playing football on our pitch here. He has quite a command of “English” of the sort usually taught by these irresponsible lads. They have got this youngster to the stage where he comes out with the most startling strings of oaths if someone misses an open goal! It really is a shame for he is a nice little lad and very intelligent for his age. I’ll bet he can speak German pretty fluently.
Well now I must be off. When I come home I’ll tell Eric of some of the smashing constructional jobs I have seen here. He would have been in his element on them.
I’m sorry I couldn’t see more of you both when I was home, but time is very precious in those circs, as I’m sure you will understand. I’m glad you had the car and a legitimate excuse, or I should not have seen you at all and then I should have been very sorry indeed, but a journey to Southport that weekend would have been murder. Stella will have been in touch with you by now, though she wrote today saying she could get no answer to her phone calls.
It is almost eight o’clock and nearly time for our tot of grog and supper. I’ll be glad to hear from you whenever you have time to write. Meanwhile, my love to you both and look after yourselves.
Yours ever,
Arthur X

Wednesday
Normandy
Dearest,
I’m in a narking mood. I’m proper upset, that’s what I am, so in case you should get the benefit of my spleen I’ll make this fairly short.
Anyway, I’ll give you the explanation for my “liver”. First of all our mail went astray yesterday, though I suppose it will turn up tonight. However, that was not a good start. Then the Wrens arrived today and I can see all sorts of complications. For instance, I went down to the beach for a swim and about half a dozen of these dames turned up in the midst of crowds of the lads in every conceivable stage of nudity. Obviously what will happen now will be that there will be all kinds of restrictions. Bathing in the nude, for instance, will be forbidden and so, possibly, will undressing on the beach. In all probability bathing will only be allowed in organised parties and, if so, they can keep it as far as I’m concerned! When I finally found three of their officers wandering round our camp to prattle to the padre it put the lid on the whole thing, for now loafing in the sun in a pair of underpants will also probably be forbidden. Women – bah!
Before I get really “het up” I’d better leave the subject.
Apart from drips, there is very little news. I really enjoyed my swim for the tide was high and there was no necessity to walk miles to find the water. What’s more, there was sufficient depth for swimming in quite a short distance. What a difference there is between swimming in fresh water and in the sea, isn’t there? Apart from the buoyancy, the sea is so much more stimulating. Then when I came out I lay in nice hot sunshine for half an hour and could have loafed there for hours. I should love one full day’s loaf with warm sand under my back. There’s nothing quite like it, is there? That’s why I was so disappointed not to get a full day on the beach with you and the children. It seems ages since we had such a day. In fact we haven’t had one since I joined up.
The news of Paris is good, isn’t it? Now it shouldn’t be long before we are away from here (perhaps where there are no Wrens to offend my sight!) though we don’t know where it may be and couldn’t tell you if we did! I’ll welcome all the moves that come along now, provided they are in reasonable reach of here, for I’ll feel each move is one nearer home!
Well, love, that’s all for today. Let me know how you are each day now, won’t you? Any morning sickness yet? I suppose I’ll start soon.
All my love to you, dearest.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Friday
Normandy
Dearest,
I got your letter after I came on watch last night. According to the number on the top it is in sequence, but as it was posted on the 20th it took four full days to come – just double the time letters have been taking lately. I also had a letter from Jack and Dot, but there is very little news except that, after a lull during the fine weather, the doodlebugs got pretty bad again as soon as there was any cloud cover for them. However, they were both OK up to the 20th so let’s hope they can hang on just a little longer and then perhaps the whole doodlebug business will be finished.
I’m glad you saw ‘Katina’ for I remember hearing some time ago that it was very good and a revelation of Sonja Henie’s versatility. I think I read at the time that she is a good linguist, a ballet dancer and an actress and I think her mother was either a ballet dancer or an actress. At any rate, I believe she had some connection with the stage. So Michael is a good cinema or theatre goer? I’m so glad, for I do hate restless unintelligent people with me at either form of entertainment. Chatterers are dreadful people to be with. When I do come home for good – blessed day! – I will have to discover all these facets of the children’s characters. I do hope they both grow up to take an intelligent interest in the theatre in particular. Nothing – not even television – will ever kill the warm personal charm and fascination of the living theatre. No matter what the medium through which a play passes, it loses something. In addition, a theatre excursion is something quite different from a visit to the cinema, perhaps because they are less frequent. If we do stay in this country then I’m hoping that when the war is over you and I will get a few opportunities of going to the theatre. I wonder who will be holding down the ‘Echo’ crit’s job by then?
I’m glad to hear you are laying in a stock of bottled fruit for the winter. The tomatoes seem late this year, don’t they? Or is it just that I have a feeling that autumn is rushing in on us and once more we have had no summer leave? Things like that affect one’s outlook, you know.
How much better off are you than you expected to be each week? I don’t mind being screwed down to £1 a week – that’s our pay out here – so long as you are getting something out of it. Did I tell you, by the way, that I got 1,200 francs last pay day, which means I’ll have nothing to come for about a month as they paid me on the London rate, which is miles above what we get here! However, I’m living pretty well within my limits at the moment so I should manage out all right. Did I tell you that they have now begun a free weekly issue of cigarettes? We got 60 Woodbines last week – all the Capstan having gone, most probably to the Marines as this is a Marine camp!
You are a good girl. It’s a great comfort to me to know that you are going to have your eyes and teeth seen to – though I hope it is not merely because of impending events. About the actual event, I have mentioned what I should like you to do in a letter a couple of days ago and I’m waiting to hear that you will ask Rees for his unbiased opinion, without any hanky-panky. Anyway, love, I’m glad you are going to see Rees early. It WILL help to settle my mind, though I don’t suppose he will be very definite himself yet. Let me know, too, his unbiased opinion of me and will you tell him from me that he can remove the vulnerable area after this. The hat-trick is quite enough for me at my time of life! Sweetheart, you know I’ll love you even if you do look like the covered wagon when next I see you. I always have done, haven’t I? I’m scarcely likely to change now. The only thing is that I’ll notice the change more, having left you your usual sylph-like figure! How’s that for flannel?
Now it is almost post time so I must be off. Take good care of yourself, darling, and let me know what Rees says as soon as you have seen him, won’t you?
I’m still waiting to hear from the children about the end of their holidays and so far I haven’t heard that they have received my letters. Give them my love, won’t you? And all my love to you, dearest.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Sunday
Normandy
Poor Old Girl!
You are in the wars lately, aren’t you? First stagnant, then stung by a wasp and now dragged all over the place by the dentist. And no-one to comfort you! I’m so sorry, love, but was glad to see from your footnote that you are feeling better. Has all the soreness gone from your jaw now? I hope it has and that you are really feeling better now. I know I’m making my appeal at what is, to say the least, a rather difficult time, but is there any chance of you reconsidering your decision and having the others out a couple at a time? Rutter wouldn’t have suggested it if he didn’t think they should come out, I’m sure, and in the long run I think you will find it easier to get used to a full plate than one that is just anchored to the others. Most people seem to find a full plate easier than a half plate, because with the latter it is so fatally easy to manage with your own few teeth. You leave them out for a couple of hours, that develops into a day or two, then a week and finally they finish up in the bathroom cabinet or a dressing table drawer along with other things! If you feel you possibly could manage it, I should have them done now and finished with because if, due to your “condition”, the others suddenly go you won’t be in anything like the state to stand up to it for at least another year or eighteen months. Your teeth undoubtedly began to break up from the time Wendy was on the way, didn’t they? I’d like you to get this cleared up now, but I’ll leave it with you and, in any case, you have no idea what a relief it is to me to know that you have tackled this matter and your eyes. Already this little beggar has developed a virtuous halo for his/her persuasive powers. I’ve no violent likes and dislikes on the subject, but I hope this is a boy, if only because he may tend to “spoil” Wendy instead of plaguing her as Michael does, the young devil! Please, love, promise now not to let Wendy develop into a “little Mother”! I’ve strong feelings on the subject though I, personally, have every reason to be very grateful to Jane for all she did for me as a child. Still, I often think her own life was more than a little cramped through me, you know.
A page a tooth. Couldn’t do better if I was free-lancing, could I? By the way, my usual warning. If you are going in for multiple births, please do the job in a big way and let’s have quins. They’d make a film of you at Walton Hospital. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Before I forget, I think Rutter is very reasonable indeed. When you get the bill paid it might be worth ringing Hughie to ask if the office scheme covers any of that expense.
This letter came in two days and is numbered 10. If that number is right, then there’s still a letter missing. I’ll let you know if it turns up in the next day or two, as it might easily do.
By the same post as your letter I had one from Jack Gray, who has news of several of the lads. Tom and George (custard powder) got a sudden draft and are either in France or on their way. Jack didn’t see Tom before he left so could not be very explicit. Robin Ever and Mic[??] Carthy are loafing in Chatham though two drafts for Gib have gone in the many weeks they have been there. Alex Stevens, who was with me in Dover, has gone to Murmansk! Tom and George, by the way, had to go to barracks so that does not sound like a loan draft! Still, it probably means they are safe for the duration. What I can’t understand is where they found the other A/Ms for the Gib drafts, for neither Robin nor Mic[??] has had a foreign draft yet and Robin’s been in over three years. He was at Whitehall before me and before becoming an A/M he did a year’s training as a sparker! Still, he’s one of the fellows you don’t begrudge having a lucky break. He would have been very useful here because he knows French well and is too shy to speak to foreigners at home, but we could soon have had him at it here, if only to help us out of difficulties. For all that, I wish now that Tom had swapped with Dalton. We would have done some deals here, but Dalton’s dead from the knees up. He had a day off today, but wouldn’t go further than the NAAFI pictures because he doesn’t like going out on his own! He used to follow me round like a lamb when we were both off and even came to the lavatory every time I went!
Now I think that’s all for today and I’m in rather a rush to get out for the day. Cheers, and all my love to you.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

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

Thursday
Normandy
Dearest,
Today I’m going on a jaunt to see if I can find a pair of boots that will fit me and at the same time find a postcard for Michael, so I’m making an early start on this letter so you won’t be entirely without. Today I searched every shop in this place, but without luck, saying “Avez vous un carte de naissance (or anniversaire) s’il vous plait”, but always the reply was “Les cartes finis completement” and that was that! By the way, while I remember, if you have not already sent it off, don’t send me that French book or any other parcel until I tell you, as our future seems a bit uncertain at the moment and while our mail will probably catch us up, parcels are better not floating about if it can be avoided. I know nothing definite, but I have a feeling we will move.
I was surprised to find your letter no. 8 (21st Aug) had not been replied to. It was the one the day the children went back to school – the start of another school year. Which reminds me. When Michael says he is in class three, does that mean he has skipped a class? And what class is Wendy in?
It would be Mrs Townsend who discovered about the plot, wouldn’t it? I don’t like the idea of Littlewoods coal! Even though it will keep down the weeds and provide shelter from the wind, a coal dump is not ideal, is it? If they do decide on it, however, will you try bribing some of their labourers to see if they will move our bank by the fence and bury it or just scatter it on the coal site? If they will, just lift two or three of the rasps and cut the old wood out, then when the bank has gone, replant them. If you get a fence along that side it will save you moving the rhubarb, for your friends the slugs will have departed then. I’d like to be home when that is being done. Has it occurred to you that with two fences like that we would only have to make a front and one side as well as a roof for a green house, the snag being, of course, that the wooden sides would be just the sunniest sides! Actually, the best thing along the top bank would be a hen run! Now that would appeal to you, wouldn’t it? Those are all the points I needed to answer, I think, so now I’ll answer your last letter (no. 12). No letter today, by the way, but I’m getting used to odd days missing, for the post has gone funny again and this took four days to come.
Thanks for telling me about Lilian’s letter and about Michael’s fondness for the station. Hope these little inquiries of mine don’t irritate you, but with being away I don’t know quite what their reactions are. In view of impending events, I think the idea of a long-clothes doll would be very popular with Wendy! I had a look at some French dolls today in my travels and found them pretty dull at 10/– each. Jointed shoulders but stiff legs and paper clothes as well as paper “hair”. They had some quite big sailing boats, properly rigged and a good job altogether for 15/–, but the trouble would be to get it home safely, especially if I had to carry it about with me very much. What I’m really looking for are small easily transportable things.
Dearest, if I should be home again I should, you know, still be very rude about the covered wagon and would have the advantage of training the children up, too! I’d have you on the spot alright.
I’m sorry about the pram, but you are wise in getting in early about Mrs Harley’s, if it is a good one. You can tell me about the other some time. Our ideas evidently tally about the use of the little front room, so tap Eric, innocently, some time to see if he has a spare electric fire anywhere. All you need for that room is quite a small bowl fire. I don’t think they are dear new, even now.
No, love, no cot in the bedroom. If it is a girl, Wendy and baby in back room, as they will be able to continue. If it is a boy, Michael’s there for the same reason. Later we’ll get another utility bed and whoever has the front room has the “odd” single bed. We really must get those bedrooms furnished. The very first thing I will try to make is a big ottoman to fit under the window in their room.
I was glad to have your ideas about clothes and I agree about the brown coat, providing you have warm – really warm – clothes underneath it. As you say, the brown coat doesn’t owe us anything! It’s probably the best buy I ever made. How many years is it now? Four? It will be nice to see you in smocks again. Quite a familiar sight! And I always have an affection for those smocks. I really have.
Be careful about what you eat now, sweetheart, for there’s no point in tempting fate you know. I thought of you yesterday. One of the lads came off the field rolling in agony. Cramp! We got his boot off and I pulled his toe as near to his knee as I could get it. The cure worked and I walked nonchalantly off amid the admiring glances of the crowd! They didn’t know how near I came to throwing a blanket over my head to complete the illusion!
Does May know anything yet, by the way? Let me know when it is general knowledge, won’t you? May was absolutely “solid” not to have claimed from the Corporation, though your account of a piece of iron flying from a tramcar is not very clear. How did it happen and where was the piece of iron from?
I don’t know how to explain our “success” really. The Dover air explanation is probably that there I got a bit of fairly regular exercise after sitting for so long in the dungeons of Whitehall which is sufficient to make a rabbit sterile!
Now I have answered your letters pretty fully and there is little other news. Last night we went out trying to get a drink of milk, but soon gathered that it is all reserved for the babies. So we set out to find some cognac, only to discover that it is was too late but that we could purchase tonight, as a very great favour, three bottles of cognac at 700 francs a bottle (£3-10!). At first I thought he meant 700 francs for the lot, which would still have been well above pre-war price. I must tell Jack Haslett about that in a letter I’m writing to him, for he’ll be interested to hear of the modern serviceman’s reactions to the France he knew in the last war. Though I doubt if many British soldiers knew much of Normandy. Flanders was more their stamping ground and the international atmosphere was very different, too.
Well, sweetheart, I think that’s about all the news except that in support of your statement about France being primitive, we saw a bullock hauling a cart through the streets today! If ever we get to Belgium, I expect we will still find dogs used as light beasts of burden. It seemed so odd seeing this almost biblical beast ambling through the narrow street, shoulders down and a thick leather harness pad on its head. Incidentally, it had on light metal “shoes”, a thing I never thought of. And that, love, is another sidelight on life in Normandy for you.
Now I think I have exhausted all my news. I may see something new later when I go in search of boots, but as I believe it is another small town not unlike this one, I doubt it. I’ll let you know how I fare tomorrow.
Now I must be off. All my love to you, dearest. Hope you are OK.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Sunday
Normandy
Dearest,
How now? How’s the holiday going? I hope you are having better weather than we are, for it’s blowing a real gale, with driving gusts of rain. I’m looking forward to your first letter from Wales though you will almost have finished your holiday by the time I get it, I suppose, for posts from such an outlandish spot are bound to be bad. By the way, I hope you found the copy of the ‘Courant’ in the children’s comics.
I don’t know whether there is a letter missing from you or not. I got one numbered 12, then one without a number and then 15 and 16! Have you made a mistake – tut! tut! – or is one missing? Don’t bother to answer, really, because it will probably have solved itself before your answer has time to get here. Fred Dalton’s mail is much worse than mine. He goes a week without any then they all turn up in a bunch!
Thanks for your account of your visit to Rees – or rather Novak. Is the medicine doing you any good, do you think? What a pity you didn’t get Rees in when he was passing, though as you say, it’s a bit early yet. Still, by the time he has come back you will be a full two months, won’t you?
Don’t start worrying about an endowment ten years hence! And by now you should know that we’ll have little say in what happens to the money. No doubt it will all be swallowed up in all sorts of essentials.
I can’t say I have any constructive ideas on the subject of names yet, but some definitely negative ones. Decidedly NOT Nicholas and equally definitely – more so – NOT Arthur. On that, my sweet, I’m very firm so let’s not raise that subject again. There will undoubtedly be a spate of topical names after the war which will help us to make a fairly original choice. You’ll get an article out of that quite easily, and the children’s ideas might be of interest in that direction, too.
Thanks for letting me know about the things you would like. So far I’ve seen nowhere likely to sell anything you mention, but I’ll keep my eyes open, love. The cricket bat seems a good idea for Michael and a definite change, too.
About smokes – we only got one free issue for some reason! But please don’t let anyone in the family bother to send any. We can buy them 6d or 8d a packet and we get Tickler as well. I got 2lbs of Tickler only yesterday and am well supplied with cigarettes. The stunt Mother was talking about is an arrangement by which you can go to certain tobacconists and pay 4/- or 5/- for 200 cigarettes to be sent to the services duty free. You never see the cigarettes as they are sent direct from bond. All you do is pay the money! But honestly, love, it’s a waste of money just now. I’m not rolling in money – I draw £1 a week here for everything – but it seems silly to me to have them sent all this way. I’m going to try smoking nothing but Tickler to see if I can save a bit of money in case we get into, or near, a big town as I understand we may do!
Now I seem to be a bit behind on your letters so I’ll carry on answering them. One point of interest to you is the fact that we can get Shredded Wheat here – but that’s no use to you, is it? I’m sorry about the butter, too, especially as I can’t send you any. What a shame that you couldn’t get your blouse done in time, for that was about your only new garment wasn’t it? As you say, it’s a good job you are getting a holiday this year at any rate. I was interested to hear the reaction of ‘Woman & Beauty’ to your ‘Housewife’ article. By the way, have you done anything for the Xmas market? If not, I’m afraid you’ll be too late. However, it looks as if you might get your feet in with ‘W&B’ if you can get hold of a copy or two.
I’m sorry to hear about Nora. I can’t imagine her losing all that weight without looking a bit seedy. I’ll bet Ivor is looking after the animals for more than one week!
Your missing letter no. 14 has turned up, as I thought it would do, but I doubt if we’ll get any mail today after yesterday’s gale. It blew a full gale all day and almost all night, so I suppose we have had it for today.
Tell Michael from me that he and I are going to fall out when I come home! Shall I write one of my “strong” letters to him, or save it until I come home? You are on the spot and can judge best what his reaction is likely to be. I don’t like this business of Peter lying and putting the blame on Michael and I hope you have pointed out to Michael that, bad as it is to steal from our neighbours, to lie and put the blame on someone else (especially younger) is infinitely worse. I don’t like taking the view that our children would be angels if it wasn’t for someone else, however, and I’m going to have a real go at Michael when I see him. I don’t think there is any point in flogging this subject any further except to say two things: I’m very disappointed in Michael because I thought he had been so good lately; and secondly, tell him from me, no more playing with Peter Goulbourne.
At long last I’ve had a letter from Tom Oliver. He had seven days leave from Chatham and now they are in camp somewhere in England, under canvas, peeling spuds and wallowing in mud! He takes a dim view of it and is sorry now he didn’t volunteer to come with me. He says they are expecting to come over here any day now. Now I’ve got his Naval Party number I might be able to trace him when he does come.
I had a gala day with my “paper” today. We ran two pages of news, three of domestic news (chiefly sport and a concert) and a full-page map. There is a growing demand for it and I now have a “circulation” of six pin-up copies including the commandant and my arch-enemies the Wrens! Altogether I suppose I have a “public” of about 500 to 700 and people now look for it every day, so I suppose it is doing some good. I still miss not having a radio and a typewriter.
Well, dearest, there’s no more news today and I’ve left this fairly late as I have been busy so I’ll have to bung it in for censoring. I do hope you are feeling fit and that the feeling of nausea will pass soon. You’ll be better then won’t you? Now I must fly. All my love to you, dearest, and take good care of yourself.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Tuesday
Normandy
Dearest,
We had quite an interesting hour down on the docks and the beach yesterday. First of all I solved the problem of a place which looks like a series of long swimming baths, but they aren’t baths at all. I suddenly had an inspiration when I saw the word “huitres” on the restaurant close by there. These are the oyster beds from which we had hoped to get some for supper the other night, but apparently they are finished for the time being. Still, I was interested to know just what these things are.
From there we went along to the docks to watch the German prisoners at work loading and unloading ships. They seem to get a good name from our lads, who have the impression that all the prisoners are very surprised they have not been shot! These are not the crack German soldiers, of course, but people of all nationalities who have been dragged or fooled into the German forces. They were, for the most part, a fairly dull, bedraggled, spiritless lot and there’s no doubt that in their drab grey-green uniform, tattered and torn very often, and dirty forage caps, they look anything but herrenvolk. In fact they look the scum of the earth. I belive all of them are volunteers for working parties and our lads seem to have no animosity towards them.
The people they can’t stand are the arrogant SS and Black Guards who are absolute swine, I believe. Most of them speak very good English and have put some of our lads out of countenance a bit by chipping in with their own faultless English when our fellows have been discussing them! From what I can gather, they are nevertheless cheeky and arrogant sods who almost spit at our guards in the least provocation. Few, if any, of them are kept here long. Instead they are shipped right over to England for there’s no doubt they are real trouble makers and you can never get them to do any work. These other labour gangs are in many cases, I think, former members of the Todt organisation – the equivalent of our Pioneer Corps – and they are only thrown into the firing line when things get a bit tough or to be used as cannon fodder while the crack troops get away as fast as they can go. Now they are being used for all sorts of things – clearing up the beaches of all the aftermath of landing (Jerry’s underwater obstacles are deadly looking things, by the way), loading and unloading ships and making roads or pulling down shattered houses. All this, of course, frees our own troops for jobs elsewhere. Altogether it was quite interesting watching them. I took a couple of packets of cigarettes down with me in the hope of getting some souvenirs from them, but they had nothing in the way of souvenirs at all that I could see.
When we went down on to the beach we found some 3.7 AA shells half buried in the sand and I was greatly tempted to try to get hold of the base cap of one, but as they hadn’t been fired I decided not to bother! The base is of brass and would make a lovely heavy ashtray for my desk. Perhaps I’ll get one later on, though it will be a hell of a weight to carry round.
And talking of weight, I’ve got rid of quite a bit by sending off today a couple of parcels, one containing whites and the other blue things, but please be sure to open them at once as they may be a bit damp. Let me know as soon as you can when they arrive, won’t you? There is a new towel in one of them which I should like saving for me. It’s probably the last I’ll get this year and the ones I’m using now are those I was issued with when I joined up.
I had a couple of Sunday papers from Jack and Dot today (they don’t realise we get papers that are usually only 24 hours old and never more than 48) and there was a brief note in it. Apparently, the “doodles” are finding their way over that district again. One dropped fairly close to where Jack works, but Dot had a really narrow escape. She was on Turnham Green station when one came over her head and hit the Polytechnic school in Bath Road, which runs parallel with the station. Usually Dot goes by bus these days and the bus stop is almost opposite the school! As it was, she caught the blast and is off work with shock. I don’t know whether they have told Mother, but I don’t suppose they have.
Well, love, I’m afraid there’s no more news just now. I’ve had no letters now for two days, but that is due to the weather, I think. Hope you are settled down now and feeling better. All my love, sweetheart.
Ever your own,
Arthur X
P.S. Here’s Don Iddon’s letter. I forgot it yesterday.

Thursday
Normandy
Dearest,
With only five days to go [to our wedding anniversary] I think I’d better say, right now, I love you 800% over my feelings – and what “feelings” there used to be in the good old days and nights – as they were in 1936. Sweetheart, despite the war, and being a bit pushed for “ready”, and odd spots of ill health, they’ve been eight years I wouldn’t have missed. We have grown closer together as our love has grown deeper, haven’t we? And it will be so nice to come home to you four(!) for good. I don’t think even you know how I’m looking forward to it. Take care of yourself for me, pet, and no silly risks. As you know, I have no time for the women who wrap themselves up in cotton-wool at these times, but don’t take any silly chances, will you? I don’t suppose carrying that heavy case about did you much good, either. I haven’t heard yet as to whether or not you have told the children, as your first letter from Welsh Wales only arrived yesterday – in quite good time, too. Posted the 3rd and reached me on the 6th.
Thanks for all you have told me about the place for I have a very good mental picture of you all now. I could just imagine the children’s reactions to a place like that and I heartily agree about no holiday resort holidays. With a family they are pretty hopeless and we get enough of crowds at other times. What I’m not very clear about is whether or not you are absolutely alone in the cottage or whether it is also occupied by the Joneses. Or do they live at the farm?
I’ve got quite a good mental picture of it with its grey dry-walls and, if the weather is bad, the hill tops shrouded in grey mist. If you are properly shod for it, you can have quite a good holiday in the country even if it is wet, but good weather makes all the difference. All I hope is that it is better for you than it is here just now. A howling full gale and the rain just lashing down throughout the night and still going strong. Yesterday it was fine so I took the afternoon off, lit a fire in a biscuit tin and boiled a petrol tin of water for my dhobi-ing. I washed two lots of underclothes, a towel, a shirt, hankies (which, as you will have noticed from the parcel, go light brown here) and six pairs of socks. They had only been out half an hour when the rain began. Since then most of it has been folded up in the tent with a couple of items on a small line. I bump against them every time I move and it reminds me of the way I swear at home about the things in the kitchen on the line! However, I’m wandering from your letter.
You seem to have had a tough time on that journey! I still can’t understand why you didn’t get out early on Saturday to miss the mid-day crowds at Liverpool. Still, it’s done now. What a shame that the children’s introduction to the “real” country was so miserable, but I’m very relieved to hear they were so good about things. To have had two whining children on your hands as well WOULD have put the lid on everything. I’m glad you found a Good Samaritan at Chester and that you were so lucky with the bus at Mold. The whole day nearly came unstuck, didn’t it? Poor old girl, I did feel sorry for you when I read your letter and I did wish I could have been there to help you. Still, you made it OK and I hope the holiday will make it all worth while. I’m glad the comics arrived and that the children liked them, and also that there was a letter waiting for you too. I’m looking forward now to the rest of your letters about the holiday and oh, love, I do wish I could be with you.
There isn’t a lot of news from here except that yesterday was “market” day. The market so far comprises one small “stall” run by a gent peddling needles and cotton and buttons etc! I know he swindled us right and left but my French isn’t up to bargaining standard yet. I didn’t get much because he had so little to sell, but I did get a card of five little painted buttons which I thought might do for a jumper for Wendy. There should be six in the set but, as you will see, one is missing. Sorry, but it was the only little souvenir type of thing he had, apart from some small hanks of shoulder strap ribbon which I’ll send you. I got one so you could tell me, as soon as possible, if it is good quality or not and whether it is worth getting any more of it for people like Dot and Lilian (as well as you, my pet) when I do finally come home. There’s so little in this place that I’ve got nothing at all so far of any value. We are definitely moving to a big town further on and we will perhaps be able to find something of interest there. Anyway, I’ll have a good look round and in the meantime let me know about the ribbon in case there’s a chance of it being some use to you. I’ll probably send it and the buttons tomorrow.
Now, love, that’s all for today. Many of ’em, sweetheart, and thank you for all you have meant and do mean to me. Perhaps we may get over to Wales for a peacetime holiday and if we are within reach of Wrexham you and I will call in and have one in “our” local there. All my love to you, dearest.
Ever your own,
Arthur X
P.S. Razor blade or blades in next letter, please.

Dearest,
Here’s a very brief note to say hello and to let you know where we are. One of the lads coming home is going to post this ashore for me so let me know if it reaches you safely. I have tried for some butter but I couldn’t get a tin to pack it in. I’m so sorry, but it really wouldn’t carry in anything else. Did you find the cheese in the other parcel? You will see from the papers – which please stow very safely for me – where we are. It’s on the coast west of Le Havre and our next move is to Rouen. After that we may move further round the coast again, but don’t know yet. All this is for your information alone so don’t give anyone specific information. If you tell anyone anything, just give them a general indication without the name of the places we are actually at. I’m only telling you because I thought it would settle your mind a bit to have a picture of where we are. When we move to Rouen, by next week sometime, I’ll be without letters for a time, I suppose. From there onward you’ll probably be in the dark for a time, though we’ll probably travel on to Belgium, Holland and finally to Germany. We THINK, and it is only a general opinion, that we will finally show up at Hamburg, which will be denoted in any future letter as “journey’s end”. OK?
Sweetheart, I’m sorry this is so rushed. Look after my papers for me, won’t you? All my love to you, precious, and I’m sorry there’s no butter. I can get it alright but, as I say, I have no tin for it. Bye now and all my love.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Sunday
Normandy
Dearest,
Before I give you my news – there isn’t a lot of it anyway – I’ll start answering your long two-day letter which came last night and for which many thanks. I was very interested in all you had to say about the farm and to know that you found so much with which to fill in the week. Incidentally, as you seem to have been getting around a good deal, I’ll be interested, for future reference, to know what the total cost of the holiday has been. As far as your account has gone so far, you don’t exactly seem to have been blessed with perfect weather, though you’ve made the most of it and I liked the idea of the children adopting their own mountain! I wonder if you found it worth while carrying blackberries and gooseberries all the way home to bottle? I meant to suggest that you got a crooked stick for pulling down the briars, which are always just out of reach.
When do you get your extra rations? It sounds as if you need them already! Anyway, I hope you have filled up with all the good farm food you could get. The farmer’s family seem to have been very friendly and I could imagine the children with all the livestock. You can’t imagine how I resent not being there. Would it be worth our while going there in peacetime, do you think? I was interested in the story of the Liverpool family who fitted an old cottage up. I’d like to be able to do something like that for ourselves in a few years.
Monday.
If, from the crumpled state of this page, you were to judge that I was interrupted at that point, you would be remarkably near the truth. More admirals than that walked in on us for there was a spot of bother going on at Le Havre, and you have probably read about the 5,000 tons of bombs dropped on there. So I had, perforce, to jack up my letter writing. Sorry, love, but accidents will happen even in my well ordered life, and it so happens that one of the admirals was J.C. himself as far as we are concerned!
Now I’ll go on answering your letters, though briefly I’m afraid, as I now have three letters, two postcards and the French grammar to acknowledge. Many thanks for all of them and will you tell the children that we all got a good laugh out of their postcards, which I never expected in these days.
Don’t worry about my tummy. It wasn’t the Dover trouble again, but a touch of dysentry, which nearly everyone had owing to the plague of flies of which I told you at the time. Anyway, I was alright in about three days and am perfectly fit now. A lot of the camps round here suffered from the same thing.
You seem to have a good mental picture of the domestic plans and my only idea different from yours was that perhaps the two children could have shared a bed for the time the ’ome ’elp is in, but your plan is better really. Get the baby out of your room as soon as you can, won’t you?
I’m sorry to hear Michael is being a bit difficult, though I can understand his feeling, which is typically masculine! As you say, he will probably come round in time and I think he will be quite good with the baby. I’ll have a natter to him if I’m home before the event.
In your letter you mentioned great banks of phlox. Did you get a few roots for home? I love them, you know.
I know the Vale of Clwyd a little, as that is where the first of the Youth Hostels in the country was established. It really is lovely and I still treasure memories of a weekend I spent there with Glyn Roberts in January or February, when all the bracken was deep brown and the hill tops were covered in snow. It was glorious. Wales is about the only place, I think, where the private bus still flourishes. I’m glad you enjoyed Ruthin and that you got something as a fairly permanent reminder of the place. I’d have been glad to know you had got tea services anywhere! We are certainly hard up for china.
Thanks for your views on Michael’s mental ability and the details about school. It all helps me to keep up with them.
No love, we can’t afford to let ourselves go, these days, can we? So far as I can see, there is very little chance of any leave for some time now. We are moving definitely in the next 48 hours and in the next day or so will have some idea as to who is going back to the UK for regrouping and who is staying here. I’m hoping I’ll stay here. Goodness only knows what we are likely to clear up with otherwise. I have to keep my mind a deliberate blank about you sometimes!
You are doing very well on your hiking, aren’t you? All I hope is that you have not overdone it. When you write about the children walking seven miles it makes me realise how they have grown up. I didn’t realise my letters meant a four mile walk for you. You are a good lass, love. How big are the hazel nuts? I thought it was a bit early for them yet. Did I ever tell you that I found a lane full of them the day I went to Tom Oliver’s? I was looking forward to collecting a few pounds and sending them home.
Well, love, I think that answers all your points except that I hope your evening sickness attack wasn’t too bad. Poor old girl, and no one to make a fuss of her! I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, haven’t I?
There’s no fresh news today except we’ll be away from here tomorrow or Wednesday. I’m anxious to be off now. I hear there’s lashings of booze where we are going and I’ll try to get some cognac for you, but no promises!
I’m disappointed I have been able to get so little here, but I’ll perhaps do better at our next place. I’m going in for the barter method there if I can, for I think it may yield better results. But, again, we’ll have to wait and see. I’m looking forward to the trip and hope it will be tomorrow, for I want to get there fairly early to try to get a decent spot for ourselves and also to get into the market early for whatever there is. Fellows who have been up already seem to think there’s a fair amount of cosmetics, but I won’t bother with powder for you. Now I must go, sweetheart. All my love to you and take care of yourself.
Ever your own,
Arthur X
P.S. If you see Eric, please thank him for his letter containing fishing tackle.

Friday
Normandy
Dearest,
I’m afraid you have been neglected for the last few days, haven’t you? One day was spent travelling and I’m still all at sea, as I usually am when these moves are in the air or actually taking place. I simply cannot settle down. For some reason or other I have that here-today-and-gone-tomorrow feeling, with nothing concrete to back it up. We have left rural Normandy behind us and I can’t say I’m not sorry, for the people in this place seem much more friendly and human. When our fellows first arrived I believe they were made very welcome indeed and so far the novelty has not worn off, though I have no doubt that “Jack” ashore will soon see to that. You can bet your life someone will make a hash of things sooner or later. The dames seem all for Jack, at the moment, so the lads are managing very well, despite their lack of French! We have had a couple of drinks – once of alleged bière, which is pretty foul, and the other night I found a place which had some Sauterne which was not bad, but I thought 20 francs a glass too dear for me these days, especially when you think there was a time when we used to drink a bottle and think nothing of it.
I’ll tell you more about this place and of our journey here in a day or two when I’m more settled down and at the same time I’ll answer your three letters – the anniversary one and the two which caught me up here about 5.30 today. With this move I lost touch with mail for a time but, all things considered, not for as long as I expected as a change-over like this is a bit muddling.
One of your letters makes it obvious that you are back home and I’m only hoping the travelling was not too much for you. Despite the bad weather you seem to have got some benefit from the change and the country air and country food. I’m glad of that for it will do you a lot of good just now.
I’m glad to hear that Michael’s birthday card was such a success and I only hope you have not told the children I’ve got French Xmas cards for them. I’d like that to be a surprise for them.
Even though this is a big town I have not seen very much in the way of children’s toys yet. The few I have seen have been even more shoddy than those at home, though I am keeping my eyes open for them all the time.
While I remember, don’t send anything in the way of parcels here yet because, as I say, I feel very unsettled but I may have some fairly definite news on this subject in the course of the next day or so.
Well, love, that is all today. Your letter tomorrow will probably be another one of these forms. After that I’ll try to get down to a long letter telling you as far as I can what has happened and will answer your letters too. All my love, dearest, and take care.
Ever,
Arthur X

Tuesday
Normandy
Dearest,
I’m afraid that as far as letters are concerned, you’ve had it for the next few days. I’m sorry, love, but it is just one of those things that does happen. I’m expecting to be on the move early in the morning and if I am then I shall be away for a few days, but will be coming back here again.
Since we came here things have been really quiet in our own line – in fact we have not done our own job since we reached this place. Instead we have been on day work and not watch-keeping, which largely explains why I have not been able to write as much or as often as I did before. We work during the day mostly on outside jobs, though I have managed to keep the paper going in spite of considerable difficulties. Then by the time we have finished work and meals it is dark and we have been going to bed at absurd times like 8 and 8.30, simply because we have no light and things like candles are almost impossible to obtain. The last couple of nights the canteen has been open, but it is pretty hopeless for writing with a grand piano and guitar going full swing. Anyway, that’s enough of dripping. I’ll tell you a bit about this place. But before I do so, many thanks for your letter of 12th September. A very nice letter it was, too. And thank you for the badges. I hope you didn’t go to town specially for them.
I spent the 12th running round in circles in a pre-move flat spin. And just before I went to bed I got your anniversary letter, but couldn’t read it as our precious couple of inches of candle had burnt out! So I read it the following day sitting in comfort on an armchair in the back of a big lorry bumping through Normandy in glorious autumn weather. I thought how, just eight years and a day ago, I’d made another journey in a very anxious frame of mind for fear we should be late. And Tim had his foot hard down all the way from Chester. Funnily enough, I passed a girl looking up adoringly at a French civvie. I don’t know why, but I got the impression that they were just married and she did remind me of you. I went back to Shrewsbury and Wrexham more vividly than I have ever done, I think. I had just the same feeling a few days later when I got your letter in which you mentioned Brymbo. Immediately I thought of that old fellow off the ‘Times’ and his tip to me to get into the technical press for the plastic industry. Remember? We met him on the bus coming from Brymbo on Sunday morning.
Despite all my good intentions I’ve got well behind with my letters, as I knew I should with that move in the offing, but I don’t think there is anything of real importance in your letters, is there? I’ve enjoyed every line of them, love, but there’s nothing to answer except to say that I’m glad to hear that you are not worried about Michael. And I’m glad too to hear that you are taking such good care of yourself. I don’t remember you having this nausea in the evenings before. I do hope you are alright. Perhaps by the time you get this letter Rees will be back and you will have been to see him. I’m anxious to hear his views of your health, for I’m worried about your anaemia. I do hope this won’t set you back when you were getting so well again. I’ll wring the brat’s neck if it sets you back in health. One way or another we have had our share of that. I’m quite selfish about this. If I come back from this war and find myself in for a long spell of worry about your health, I’ll go completely crackers.
If this is a bit disjointed I hope you’ll forgive me for I’m struggling against the piano and a cook who, with two broken pieces of a packing case, is giving a wonderful imitation of a drummer in one of the big bands! Yes, I’m in a navy canteen, OK? And for that reason I simply can’t think coherently on the subject of names. But I will do, love.
Well, we have been here a few days now and know our way round the town quite well. It has been fairly badly bombed by our people in some places. But it is nothing like another town, the name of which was in the papers for weeks and through which we passed on our way here. If you think you have been through an air raid, just forget it. Destruction, complete and utter, began with small hamlets a little distance out of the town and even there, out in glorious autumn fields, not a single building had escaped bombs or shells. Even little wooden peasants’ houses were wrecks. For nearly four miles we drove through desolation such as you will never see and never came across a house standing undamaged. There were literal mountains of rubbish and debris through which bulldozers had pushed narrow lanes for the traffic. It literally made me ill to see it and to watch people poking listlessly among filth that had once been their homes. You could see hopelessness in every line of their bearing. This town has seen war at its most modern and maddest. Did I tell you we had a French matelot as a passenger? His mother, father and five cousins were shot by Jerry in Cherbourg. When he saw the German prisoners working on the ruins and smiling smugly, he went white with passion. Christ help any German – man, woman, child, well or ill – who falls into his hands. There’s bitterness, deep and abiding, in every inch of him. And I doubt if anyone hates like a Frenchman.
We picked up some civilians who were cycling to this town after we’d dropped our matelot, and saved them many hours ride. We dropped them in the square here, but before they left the husband gave me his card and asked us over to visit them. I was the only one who could speak any French! It took quite a long time for it to dawn on me when he said he was a “marchand de gateaux”, but when I got it I yelled “big eats” which tickled him mightily. Anyway, we (Dalton and I) went down for tea on Sunday. It’s only a walk of about 4 kilos from here. Rationing is very harsh and I should have liked to take some of our white bread but could not manage it. We had a real French meal of bits and pieces and – special treat – a very good cup of tea. One of the cakes was a sponge absolutely soaked in rum! We also had some very nice cider – good cider is hard come by here, but this was almost like champagne – and finished up with him opening a very good bottle of rum! Even the children here drink, but they dip a piece of sugar into it. Their sugar is three times the size of ours and it just sweetens a very small cup to the right stage.
They have a baby of seven months and it is a really nice little thing. All its face and head is covered with sores through the soap they have to use. It’s deadly stuff and you get as much lather as you would with Monkey Brand, so I gave her a bar of our toilet soap for the baby. This with a bit of our chocolate made us very popular! I prattled merrily away while Fred sat woodenly by. My French is coming on! The grammar is away to hell, but people understand me which is all that matters.
While I remember, I’m sending you a parcel which will, I hope, be a big treat to you if the contents arrive safely. I’m risking it in spite of the fact that I have not yet heard of the arrival of the other things. It’s a surprise so I won’t tell you what it is, but if you really want to make some money I reckon the box is worth £5 as it stands! Who said luxury? And I’ll bet that has tickled your curiosity. Let me know the children’s reactions, won’t you? And I’ll bet a few adults will be jealous if you let them see them.
On the way out the other night I called in at a little cottage and got talking to the people. They have a nice intelligent little boy and I’m going to go and teach him English! All he can say at the moment is yes and no so my Hart’s grammar will come in useful there. He had a hutch – or rather, hutches – with two does and a buck – right young ones, half-grown. They had to keep the buck away from the others as he had eaten two of the babies! The boy was delighted when we took an interest in them. I should have gone there tonight but with all your letters on my mind I couldn’t do so. It will give me somewhere to go in the evenings. And I’ll probably learn more French then he will English. (As you may guess by some of this writing, the lights in the canteen have failed at least twelve times during this and the last page. You don’t know what a comfort it will be to press a switch and know the lights will stay on.)
Since I began this letter I’ve learned that tomorrow’s trip is off. A bloke who seems to have got his knife into me has put a stopper on it out of sheer spite, though it was approved by an officer. I’m annoyed because I was looking forward to seeing still one more famous place! No, definitely not Paris! If he had stopped me going there I’d swing for him. But while I am here I’m going in for all the trips I can get.
(This cook I mentioned is a Scouser!)
My next stunt is to try to get a full-time job running a paper for all the units – army, navy and air force – in this area, but I think the same bloke will scotch it! (‘Nellie Dean’ is now in full swing!) Tomorrow I’ll put in to see an officer about it, more to annoy this bloke than with any hope of getting it agreed to, for I have a feeling we shall be away from here for good in the very near future as we are not being used in our own capacity at all and from what I can see, are not likely to be! (Now it is ‘Roll Me Over In The Clover And Do It Again’!)
Well, sweetheart, it’s now Wednesday morning and I must be off. I’ll write you again tomorrow if I can make it. All my love, dearest, and take care of yourself.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Saturday
Normandy
Dearest,
Many thanks for your letter dated the 17th, which is the first I have received since yours of the 13th and though I know you didn’t write on the 16th I don’t know about the intervening days so am in the dark for the moment as to whether either of my parcels arrived. Our mail is completely haywire at the moment and even the papers which used to come through in a day are now taking a couple of days.
I don’t think I have ever seen the galleons to which you refer, but I was very interested as galleons are a weakness of mine. I’ve wanted a really nice one ever since we have been married.
Sorry to hear you have had the willies, love, but I must confess I’m glad you didn’t write a really depressing letter as we are sufficiently browned off with the conditions here. We still have no light in our room so I think it might be a good idea if you sent me a little parcel containing a few and a jar of Field Day. Perhaps you will also add a tin of Steradent. Not only is the light hopeless here – we often have to go to bed about eight because there is no light in the rooms and the NAAFI lights have now been put out because the blackout is bad – but the water is just as hopeless. Sometimes it is on during the day and sometimes it is turned off. After it has been turned off, people come along, try the taps, forget to turn them off and leave them. Then when the water is turned on the bowls all overflow. Of course the sanitary arrangements are affected by the water situation and just now my nostrils are being assailed by the smell of an overloaded and unflushed lavatory! It’s pretty foul. Altogether I think this has been a move for the worse as the grub has also deteriorated a lot and the quantity has gone down too. So, one way and another, we are feeling rather fed up, especially as discipline is being tightened up while amenities fade away. Up at the place where we work there is literally no sanitary arrangement whatever for the fellows, though they have to do six hour watches at night. The Wren ratings have the only lavatory there was! And they call this a progressive country.
I’m glad Arthur may be sending some magazines. They will come in useful.
So you are eating like a horse? No wonder the children are intrigued by the proposed size of the baby! I’m glad to hear that Michael is getting more interested, even to the extent of giving toys to it.
So you still dream of me sometimes? Good girl. It’s nice to be missed you know, and very satisfying to a service-cramped ego. Thank goodness I’m never likely to think you have forgotten me! And you have been a very good girl, since I came away, in the letters you have written.
I was very intrigued to hear that you are not included in the general “light-up”, especially as the radio said the morning papers on Monday carried pictures of Liverpool, Manchester and Birmingham in a blaze of light again!
Yesterday I saw the two officers concerned about the wider distribution of the ‘Normandy News’ as it is now called. Something has happened which I can’t fathom, but their alibi now is that if it goes out of this camp it will have to be censored. Personally I think that is crackers, but there you are.
I am going to let it rest there for the moment.
Now I must be off, love. All my love to you, angel, and take good care of yourselves for me, won’t you?
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Sunday
Normandy
My dear Jane & Jack,
Many thanks for your letter of August 30th, which I have just received after it being forwarded by Stella. Within a few days of you writing you should have received two letters from me – one joint one and one sent in reply to Jack’s letter. They were written within a few days of each other and I told you in one of them that I was expecting to move on from that place. Well we have moved and now we are expecting another jump! Our address should, however, remain the same as on the back of this letter, though that is by no means certain.
We are now in a part of France which Jack must have known in the last war I should think. It’s quite a big city – no, not Paris! – and the RAF have knocked it about quite a lot in the last three or four months. Its lovely cathedral is very badly damaged and another lovely church close by. However, there doesn’t seem to be any animosity among the people, who are very glad to see us and are much more friendly than those in our last place. One reason may be that there was a big and successful Maquis [French resistance] movement here which still thrives, for you can see lots of the fellows proudly wearing their FFI [Forces Françaises de l’Interieur] armbands, especially in the evenings after they have finished work.
This is a great fruit growing district and for a few cigarettes one can get apples, pears and fresh peaches! A great treat to us, especially in our first days here when the feeding arrangements were bad. From today, however, they should show an improvement. The thing that gets us down are the stories about the fine food the lads in France are getting. I was sorry in some ways to leave our canvas days for I enjoyed them and though we have a solid roof and substantial walls here, when you have said that you have said everything! However, we hope we will move soon.
We get a chance to have a drink in town, but that and a few cosmetics are about all we can buy as everything else is rationed. Unlike the last war, drinks are very expensive here, even in the small cafes, and the best places are out of bounds to the troops! I get along quite well with my French, tho I doubt if my grammar is very hot and I have to feel round in my mind for words. Last Sunday I spent an amusing hour making a shorthand note of the BBC reports of the airborne landings and then translating into French for half the population of a little village where I had stopped for a drink. I got a woman in a cottage to do my dhobi-ing as there are no facilities here and I began to teach her 14 year old son, who is very bright, English. We have had some quite good fun out of it. The boy is hoping to get into an electrical engineer’s place when he is 16. We have also got quite a lot of fun out of bargaining for various things in the shops. But we have not found any silk stockings yet!
Well, that’s all the news for now. I’ll write you again soon. I hope you are both keeping fit and taking good care of yourselves.
Lots of love,
Arthur X

Tuesday
Normandy
Dear Wendy,
So I owe you two letters, do I? Just you wait until I come home you saucy little minx! You have not had a letter like this one before, have you? Thank you for your letter, which was the longest you have written and thank you, too, for your funny postcard from Wales, which made us all laugh. It is with Michael’s on a stand by my bed. On Sunday I was going to go fishing with a French boy who is learning to speak English, but we could not go because it was raining and very windy. I found some chestnuts today but they were not quite ripe so I could not roast them. You are not the only one who has had blackberries. We pick them every day in the lane as we go to work. Were you pleased when Mummy told you about the surprise? I hope so. It will be nice if you get two brothers and two sisters, won’t it? What does Mummy say? Lots of love, sweetheart.
From your Daddy X

Friday
Normandy
Dearest,
First of all I’d better explain that I didn’t write yesterday for a variety of reasons. Chief of them was that I was cook and had to scrub out the mess and dish up everything after breakfast. Then I had to go to sick bay to tell the M.O. that I’d got over my attack of Normandy Blues. I should have been there at 8.30 and as I had to get the news at 9 o’clock it was nearly ten when I got to the sick bay so I was rushing all the time. And after that I’d had it for I had the whole of my afternoon filled with hauling mobile generators about the place!
Even now I should be doing the same thing, but I must get some sort of note off to you today or you will be initiating divorce proceedings! Seriously, if letters aren’t written during daylight – and that is rather difficult many days – then they just don’t get written at all.
There’s little enough news. Last night I went out from 7 to 8 for a drink of cider which we had from a carafe suspiciously like the bottles men patients in hospital use to save them getting out of bed. The shape of bottle and colour of content might have been disturbing to weaker stomachs. However, it didn’t affect me at the time, but at three o’clock I had to leap smartly from bed and nip down two flights of stairs! I thought it a return of the Normandy Blues but decided later it was the combined effect of the cider and fresh peaches! I’d still like to get a packing case of pears and peaches over to you! If you saw them on the trees here, your mouth would water. If by any good chance we do come over soon, I’ll do all I can to get some home.
We have found a little cafe in the town where the daughter of the house has a camera, so we are going to try to get a film and take a picture of some of the lads in our battle dress. If we can get a film tomorrow we’ll do the dirty deed on Sunday and try to get one of the people who run the cafe, too. That will show you the sort of company I’ve been keeping! I’ll tell you more about this cafe when I come home.
Despite Churchill’s speech, a lot of the lads here are banking on being out of uniform in a year or less and they are full of beans at the prospect. Personally I think the feeling you have had about listening at night to footsteps may be justified, but there is nothing definite yet. However, things have moved so fast that Jerry is finished here for good and all. I was interested to see Churchill’s statement, by the way, that the liberation of southern France was accomplished in half the scheduled time. The Maquis were not given a fair crack of the whip over that, for there is no doubt they cleared the way for the Yanks all along the Rhone Valley. In fact the Maquis liberated some places ten to twelve days before the Yanks got there.
Well, sweetheart, no more news today, but I’ve been thinking of you a lot. I’m wondering how you are looking now! And how you are feeling, too. Do you realise that if you had not been in such a hurry we might have got about £10 to £20 from the Government for this confinement? Have I ever mentioned before that I think you are P.A. [Public Assistance]? Poor old girl. Trying to capitalise your hard worked ovaries, that’s what he is. It’s a pity some of these men don’t have to go through it all, isn’t it? Never mind, sweetheart, keep your chin up and perhaps I’ll be home to cheer you up a bit before the happy(?) event comes off. You’ve been a good lass, haven’t you? I hope you are not feeling too bad, my love, and that the children are behaving.
Now I must rush off. All my love to you, dearest. I’ll try to keep letters more regular. My love to the children. Please tell Michael I will write to him as soon as I can. All my love, dearest. I’m missing you and thinking of you a lot, though perhaps my letters don’t show it as much these days.
Ever your own,
Arthur X