Arthur & Stella

Monday
Glasgow
My darling,
How now? Hope the blues are not too bad and that by the time you get this you are more or less back into your normal swing. I had the feeling when I left that you were in for a bad dose of the blues and for that reason felt a bit vicious about things. I was sorry to have to leave you in that frame of mind because it takes the gilt off the leave, especially when it has been an unexpected break like that. Whenever I see you depressed or feeling blue I always do get bad tempered with everything and everybody. You have probably noticed that I snap at you and the children sometimes because of it. Never mind, love, this course is nearly finished now. I was only saying to one of the lads this morning that there are only three more days before we start this week’s tests and then that will only leave us with a fortnight to do. Looked at in that light the course is as good as finished and in a very short time we will be southbound in a train once more. Talking about trains I slept the whole way up here and if I had not had young Harry with me I would still have been in the train at Preston where we had to change, for he had a job to waken me. That was probably the beer as well as night exercises for I got a fair load before I left. I just got to the “B.S.” in time to have two drinks and – being very mercenary – I am glad I did, for it meant another ten bob to me. When I got into town Fisher had gone over to Willie Cockburn’s so I missed him but I went up to the Club for a drink and I took young Harry and Hughie up with me. I think Hughie enjoyed the break. Georgie Porgie sends his kind regards and says he has had a book for Michael for about six months but has not had time to get out with it. And guess who was in the Club? Don McWhinnie, who also sends his salaams and also threatens to come out and see you before he leaves Liverpool. He is there on official business but expects to be away from there in five or six days and then he is off abroad, but he knows not when or where. You know he is a captain on the transport side with the commandos – well he was in the Dieppe stunt but won’t talk. He was, as usual, a bit boozed last night but even then he was not saying anything. All he would say was that he was glad he was boozed for the whole four days – in fact it was the only possible state to be in and carry on, he says. He was sorry he had left Glasgow before you got there and is going to reprimand the War Office about it. Incidentally, Durham is up here in Stirling which is, I believe, within a bus ride of here so I am going to write him today and it will have to be forwarded from his home so there is just the possibility that he will be able to slip over and see me before we leave. One of the Scots lads here says it is only an hour on the train from here.
This letter is, I’m afraid, very disjointed and very badly typed but, despite the sleep I had on the train, I can hardly keep my eyes open and there is all this afternoon to go yet! Oh dear, oh dear. Thank goodness we have an understanding instructor. It does help such a lot and thank goodness too that this is a touch-typing course, for I have my eyes closed while I am doing this and I am nearly asleep. I do hope you can make some sense out of this letter. I am going to stop in a minute and I will post it on the way back to dinner.
Darling, I do hope you are all right now. I felt funny leaving you last night, almost as if there was some sort of cloud over us or something indefinable between us. Did you by any chance feel the same thing? If ever you do feel anything like that and you know the reason for it, please tell me and we will thrash it out.
And now, love, it is almost dinner time and I shall have to leave you. Hope you don’t mind the typing but I doubt if you would be able to read anything I wrote today and I want to get this off so that you are sure to get it first thing in the morning. Take good care of yourself, love, and the next time I come home we will have longer together and will be able to plan things a bit better. In some ways though, a weekend is better than a full week’s leave because people cannot expect you to give up much time, whereas so many people expect to see you on a week’s leave. There goes the signal to pack up work so I’m off, love. Bye, my angel. I love you still so take care of yourself.
All my love.
Ever your own,
Arthur

Wednesday
Glasgow
My darling,
This week is beginning to fly and the lads are already numbering the days off and by the time you get this there will be only a fortnight left. The feeling is that we will go on draft from here on Friday 23rd but I don’t suppose we will know definitely until next week. As soon as I am certain I’ll let you know.
John Dagg’s aunt has invited us both to go over to stay the weekend at Rothesay so we should have a pleasant change. If only the weather is decent it should be very nice for I have always wanted to see the Kyles of Bute. We can only hope that the weather is decent. Since we came back we have noticed the difference in the temperature. It is degrees colder here.
I have just read your letter, darling. It would be hypocritical if I said I was sorry that you are not stagnant. Because of this blasted war I can’t say I’m sorry, but what I am really sorry about is that you should be so bitterly disappointed. With you being not merely willing, but so desperately anxious to have another child, I feel terribly guilty for robbing you of that joy. When I come home again we will talk it over. In the meantime find out from the W.V.S., or anyone else who may be able to help you, just what grants you can get and then when we do talk it over we will have some idea of where we are working. This business is going to become an obsession with you if we are not careful and if I’m going to be away from home any length of time it has got to be dealt with. My chief objections are: (1) war babies are very often a mistake because of the uncertainties of the food position; (2) there is the ever-present danger of bombing; (3) I should much prefer to be on hand during the whole period of pregnancy; (4) expense. Some, if not all of these arguments can be defeated, or talked out of court for they are MY views and not necessarily yours. You have every right to press this point and what I want you to do is to marshal all your arguments for when I come home and if you can convince me – or “convert” me – to your point of view then I will spend seven days and seven nights TRYING my best to fulfil your desire! I should say my greatest objections are that we have, as yet, no indication that air raids far heavier than we have yet known will not be delivered this autumn. If I could be certain on that point I would be nearer conversion. The other great point, and one I have not mentioned to you as yet, is that we don’t know whether I shall have to go abroad. If I do have to go overseas there is always the faint possibility, which I cannot ignore, that I may be bumped off on the way there. Then you are a widower with an unborn baby which means that you would be prevented for a period of about 18 months at least from getting into the labour market. Then, finally, you would quite possibly rush out to work before you were properly fit. Sweetheart, I’m not writing all this to add to your depression, nor yet for the sake of being dramatic. They are wartime possibilities which have to be faced. I want you to face them and get all your arguments marshalled. Then when I come home for leave we will get all my old letters out, have a night of sentiment and then thrash this business out. How would you like that?
Now, darling, I’m afraid I’m going to be late as I must fly. I’m glad Wendy is better. Take care of yourself for me, angel, for I do love you, in spite of my being so selfish about this business of an addition to the family.
Bye, precious, until tomorrow. I do adore you. All my love, angel.
Always your own,
Arthur X

Friday
Glasgow
Dearest,
Another Saturday letter! Do you realise that there will only be two more after this from Glasgow? And a few days after that I should be home again. What an inspiring thought. Oh, darling, some of the lads have been building castles against the day when we are demobbed. Not all of us have rosy pictures of what may happen then but, with all the risks, we can think of nothing finer than the day when we come home. I have just been saying to Charlie that we may be lucky enough to get home in the summer or even the autumn and, if we are, the first thing I’m going to do is take the family for a decent holiday before we spend whatever gratuity I have on something stupid. What a vision that conjures up. All of us on holiday spending whole days together out in the open air and then, at night, the children safely abed, you and I going to a show and supper, with bed afterwards and it would not matter then if you had vapours or not for I would be able to hold you close and know that hundreds, aye thousands, of days and nights stretched away ahead of us. It is an enchanting vision of the future and one which makes this stupid insane existence bearable. Let us hope we have not to wait too many years before it comes true.
I have, as usual, been thinking a good deal of you tonight for I have been to the pictures with Charlie to see ‘Reap The Wild Wind’. Have you seen it? There are some fine sea scenes in it, perhaps some of the most effective being sunset shots and others of an early steamer/sailing ship drifting through fog. It’s a film I should think you would like. I had heard a good deal of it and was glad to have seen it for it was not too sobby and there were some good scraps in it. Here and there it was spoiled by obviously faked photography, notably underwater scenes in which two divers fight a giant squid. Still, I enjoyed the change which brought you a lot nearer to me. The cinema is one of the places where I often meet you, which is rather surprising when you think how seldom we have been there together in all the years of our courtship(!) and our married life. But for all that you were there tonight, holding my hand and agreeing with my occasional comments on the photography or the acting. And talking of photography, we must get Dave to take some more of us when I’m home. I asked him about a studio of you and he passed it off for the time being but I’m hoping he will do one before I finish my leave. Outdoor pictures will probably be pretty hopeless by then if the weather is anything like what it is up here even now. It has been absolutely freezing here all day. A real winter’s day, and nights when we would doubly appreciate a wife! You know how nice it was at home on Saturday and Sunday. Well, it rained solidly here throughout the weekend.
Must leave you now. See you later, love, when I have had your letter.
There has been a bit of a scare here in the last few days because two fellows in a room in a separate part of the building have been taken to hospital with diphtheria and the racket at the moment is that everyone in the place, from the Commander down, has to gargle every morning. There’s nothing to worry about, love, for there’s no sign of it spreading.

Friday dinner time
Just back from dinner. And what a dinner. I don’t know of any other chef who would go to the trouble this fellow does. Most of them ruin good food in the cooking. There’s no doubt we feed better than most civvies. Soup, steak and kidney, and baked apple pudding swimming in custard, with second helpings of the latter if necessary. Yesterday we had rhubarb and custard and some of the fellows had four helpings with the result that all yesterday evening, and this morning, and even during the night, there was a big queue at the lavatories, which are not sufficient for normal needs! We do have fun and games.
I’m so glad you feel better now. Please, sweetheart, don’t for a moment think that I think you were deliberately responsible for my fit of the blues. You weren’t, angel, for it was a lovely weekend. But you know as well as I do that you were feeling down in the dumps when I left and you know, too, that whenever you are feeling like that it makes me feel, in a way, responsible because I have come home on an unexpected weekend. Darling, I’m sure I haven’t expressed this very well but it has taken me just a quarter of an hour to write these two sentences because of a great crowd of fellows arguing heatedly about a form we have had to fill in. It’s a routine form we get everywhere we go, but there is always the same row about it.
I’m annoyed because there’s so much more I wanted to say and I must go now. I do hope you have a nice weekend at Limedale and don’t forget to pay her for the tobacco. I’ll think of you this weekend when I’m at Rothesay. Unless the weather improves it is not going to be very pleasant. Bye for now, sweet. All my love.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Monday
Glasgow
Dearest,
Now to tell you all about the weekend. The island of Bute has certainly got to go on the list of places to be visited when the war is over, although how we are going to afford to see all the places I visit in the course of the war is something of a mystery at the moment! Had we tried all the year we could not have chosen a better day than Sunday was. There had been heavy rain in Glasgow on Thursday and Friday and on Saturday morning it was still pouring down, although it began to clear up a bit about eleven o’clock and then when we got to Wemyss Bay to catch the steamer over to the island it rained again. Fortunately, the boat was late and we had to wait so that by the time we got on board, the rain had cleared and that was the last we saw of it for the weekend. We decided to stay in on Saturday night as the weather was so doubtful and so we sat in front of the fire and chattered away until ten o’clock, to the great delight of Jack’s aunt, who is a maiden woman of about sixty and who, incidentally, made me very welcome indeed.
Jack was up fairly early on Sunday morning but I was left in bed until nine, which suited me down to the ground. Apparently Miss Muir had been all round her tradesmen telling the tale that she had two sailors coming for the weekend, because she got four fresh eggs so that we were able to have lashings of ham and eggs for breakfast as well as some of the nicest porridge I have tasted. For dinner we had more than we could eat of stewed steak followed by prunes and custard and, one way and another, we did so well that you would not have known there was a war on. This was a great comfort to me because I am always a bit chary of going to these single-person households and taking their rations, especially as we do so well for food at the billet. Anyway, the main thing is that we did not seem to be robbing her.
What a glorious place Port Bannatyne is. It is about half an hour’s walk from Rothesay, which is the main place in Bute. The island is up towards the mouth of the Clyde, much nearer to the sea than the places Mother saw, and at the island there are several different stretches of water – the Forth of Clyde, Loch Striven and the famous Kyles of Bute. After breakfast on Sunday we walked on to the hills at the back of the port and got a lovely view of the whole bay ringed in hills clothed in all the glorious colours of autumn: the greens of different grasses, the gold of fresh cut grain, the dark greens of the conifers, the russets of bracken and leafed trees, and the mixed russet and purple of the heather. Oh, darling, I kept wishing that you were there so that I could point out to you the ever changing patterns of cloud shadows on the hills. The hills themselves were wonderful. They seem to roll on, fold on fold for ever – certainly beyond the range of one’s eyes and as ever I was amazed that nature never duplicates any of her patterns. There is one hill right opposite the window of the house where we were – for once literally within a stone’s throw of the beach – and it was deeply scarred with typical Scottish burns cascading almost vertically down its face in many places. But I have got away from what I was saying. From the hill we came down to the sea level again and walked round the end of the bay and along the shore through a small yard where yachts were built in peacetime – now forbidden property as you may imagine, for it is not yachts they are building these days. Michael would have loved that particular spot.
On the beach I collected several giant mussel shells which will make nice ashtrays when they are properly cleaned and which I would like to keep as a souvenir of a really lovely weekend. From there we skirted the bay for some distance, collecting large handfuls of blackberries as we went and so came to the Kyles of Bute. Kyles means a stretch of narrow water between two pieces of land and the Kyles of Bute run between the island and the mainland. They really are glorious and one feature is a belt of trees planted by the owner of one hillside somewhere about the time of the Battle of Waterloo, so that the trees represent the formation of the British troops in that battle.
All this, I’m afraid, does not do the place justice. The hills were at their best and the day was absolutely perfect, but you weren’t there to share it. If only you had been, love, it would have been even more of a red letter day than it was. Some day we shall see it together but the trouble is, of course, that I won’t be able to guarantee the weather for you. Jack’s aunt is quite convinced that the war is going to end this year and she thinks I owe it to you and the family to let you see Bute and she is quite determined that she will see you one day – but unfortunately she did not extend an invitation to us all. I suppose even Scottish hospitality cannot be expected to run to that!
Now to answer briefly some of the points in your Saturday letter. I don’t think there is anything more to be said at the moment on the main subject. We will deal with that when I come home and full weight will be given to all the points you have so ably made in your letters. So that subject is taboo in future letters.
How is Michael now? Hope he is better and that you have not been prevented from going to Limedale. Did you have a nice time? And how is May? That stuff of Dave’s seems to be the best of all the things you have had for Wendy’s cough and if it means better sleep for her it must mean better sleep for you. I would like to see her able to go through the winter without these hacking coughs which must pull her down a good deal, for all the medical assurance that they are not serious. How is your tummy now, love? Things should be past their worst now and you should be getting in good fettle to welcome John home to the fold again – and what a fold!
There is not a great deal of news from here. We have not had any intimation of an extension of the course so I expect we will be away pretty well to time, which means that by the time you get this there will be little more than a full week. Nice work. There does not seem to be any real rush to post people from the depot, because the fellow who left here weeks ago is still there and he spends his time knocking studs into football boots! Which means that there is just a chance of us being home for Xmas although, of course, we cannot build on that by any means. Still, one never knows.
Well, love, that seems about all just now. Your Monday letter has not come on this delivery so it looks as if I’ll get it by the evening delivery. If there are any points to be dealt with in it I’ll deal with them tomorrow. I have missed you terribly this weekend, love, as I always do when I am enjoying myself. I always want you to be there to share things. Goodbye for now, sweet, and take care of yourself for I love you such a lot. Goodbye for now, sweetheart. Little more than a fortnight and you may be in my arms again. Precious, I do love you.
All my love, sweet.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Wednesday
Glasgow
Sweetheart,
This is being begun on Tuesday night while waiting to go to the Empire – 9d in the gods! And I’m certainly looking forward to hearing from you tomorrow. I do hope you are better now. It seemed to me today that you ought to have a working arrangement with Mrs Gardiner or someone in the road so that if one of you is off colour she can take it easy while the other one wades in to the housework, or at least feeds the children and does the shopping. Have you worked anything like that out? Anyway, there’s not much point in saying much more on this subject until I hear tomorrow how you are. I do wish I knew where you were so that if you are at Limedale I could write there. That’s the worst of being away from home. If I knew Carpenter’s phone number I could ring there. By the way, don’t ring here on Thursday night because I’m on duty officially and I’m going out!
The Commander came to see us at school this afternoon and the instructor asked for an extension of a week so we may know something very soon now. In any case there is not a lot of time now and they will have to make a decision one way or another. But I hope we don’t get a week – that is neither one thing or the other. I want to know so that I can get letters away to several people warning them not to write here for some time.
I had a letter from Eric today – his address if you should need it is 11, Promenade, Southport, and the telephone no. is S’port 3997. There is not a great deal of news in it. They didn’t get the Cheshire job, but have a rather sticky job off the coast of the Isle of Man. Not too pleasant in winter. Eric wants us to slip over one day during leave but we will have to figure all these things out later. It might be a good idea if we got together a list of people who will have to be seen and will you include Fred Stephens? I should slip over there one morning or afternoon for an hour. It might make a pleasant afternoon for all of us. It has just occurred to me – do you think we should keep Wendy off school or not for that week? Think these things over will you, love? It’s no good leaving them until the last minute. As soon as we have any definite news of a draft I’ll let you know.
I’m off now, sweet. Sleep well, whether at home or at Limedale, and get better soon. I do hate to think of you being ill, although we have been lucky in the last couple of years, thank goodness. I would sooner be off colour myself than have you ill, even more so when I’m not there to fuss you a bit. And while you have been at Limedale I haven’t even been able to talk to you through my letters – and even now I don’t know whether you will get this tomorrow.

Dinner time
No letter so far today, but I’m hoping to hear from you tonight and to learn that you are getting better. I do hate this uncertainty. I know it is silly but it seems ages since I got yesterday’s letter.
Well, love, there is not a lot of news today. We are still going steadily through the time and can only hope that we will know what our fate is to be very soon. I should say we may have some news soon, perhaps at the beginning of next week. If there is no extension we will only have a week to go by the time you get this letters. I am trying my best to get a film, by the way, so may be able to take some snaps when we get home.
Now I must be off to school, love. Do get well soon. Are the children behaving themselves? I hope so. Bye for now, and do take care of yourself. All my love, angel.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Sunday
Glasgow
Dearest,
It was good to see the familiar writing on your letter, which I got on Saturday. The day seemed much more normal and the memory of the previous Saturday more like a bad dream. I’m so glad you managed to sleep right through the night. Providing you look after yourself properly for the whole of the winter you should be OK and, in fact, you may be heaps better for getting everything out of your system. There is a good deal to be said for your theory that being without food for a week clears your system completely. Anyway, it’s a good way to look at these things.
We are using the weekend to make a tour of various houses saying goodbye to people. Last night we went over to one of Charlie’s aunts for a farewell tea. Today we are going to another one. So you can see that we are maintaining our form right to the bitter end! I want to get round to see Alex Brown on Monday if I can and that, I think, will be the finish of the touching farewells. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see Frank before I go, but there is just a chance that he may be home on leave before I go back and in that case he might slip over to see us. One night this week I’ll have to stay in and write all my final letters telling people when I am due away from here.
I have written Mother and Dot and I have at last posted Jane’s airmail letter, which I wrote just before I came home, so that’s a few of them polished off. Another thing I should do is get all my socks washed and my trousers patched but I have my doubts about that. I really must remember to bring my number ones to Limedale to have the turn-ups done. They are in tatters already.
Well, love, that’s about all the news from here. How are you today? I do hope you are feeling a bit stronger. How are your legs now? Any more stable? I’m going to be interested to see if the Guinness does make any difference. By now I expect you will have had a few visitors. Has Milly been in during the weekend? Give her my love when you do see her.
There is a feeling here that we may be lucky enough to get away from Chatham by the weekend. Won’t that be nice! Anyway, I will wire you as soon as I know what the position is, so keep your fingers crossed! Fingers, I said!
What do you think of the news from the Middle East? It’s about the most heartening we have had for a long time and if we don’t clear Libya and the Med now we’ll deserve kicking to death. This may easily divert a lot of strength away from Russia, especially if we clear the Med and make a real assault on Italy itself. That is quite on the cards I think.
Now, sweetheart, I don’t think there is a great deal more to say, except that I do love you! Get well quickly, dear, for I hate to think of you suffering. I’m relying on you to do for yourself all that you would be telling me to do if the position was reversed.
I’m away to the Post Office now. All my love.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Tuesday
Glasgow
Darling,
I was just about to say “how are you?” when the call went to fall in so I will have to leave you now until dinner time. Bye for now. See you in about three hours.
Dinner time and time to say “thank you” for your two letters. I know just how you will be feeling for the trouble always is that once the doctor says you are out of danger you feel you should be able to do a day’s work! The thing to remember is that after an illness it is for the best to make haste slowly. Remember that on the Thursday it took you all your time to walk to the head of the stairs and now you are up for four hours at a stretch! You don’t want to rush beyond that stage for a few days or you will be back in bed. Don’t forget that once you are back at home you will not be able to have anything like the same amount of rest.
I’m sorry you find the Guinness is not agreeing with you. Have you thought of trying it in milk? Failing that, are you trying the baby Worthingtons? And do you think a bottle of bynin amara would do you good as a general tonic? It might be worth trying, for the main thing is to build yourself up now. One other thing is to chase the blues away as fast as you can and not to let them get hold of you. I know it is not easy but even the effort will make you feel better. I do wish I was there to help you chase them, as I know I could do, but repining for things that are impossible only makes matters worse.
I don’t think there is any need for you to worry about the children – our household has been too loyal an affair always for there to be any feeling like that in their minds. That is one fear you can safely put aside from your mind. The fact that they have been so good shows that they know how ill you have been.
There is not a great deal of news from here. I had my final test – or one of them – this morning and got 31 words a minute for five minutes with only two mistakes. Macdonald was quite satisfied with that figure and said it was very good considering I had missed a week. So long as he is satisfied – and he really is – that is all that matters. So there is no need for you to worry on that score for although I’m not “top boy” I’m a good way from the bottom!
To amuse Alan Ross I have done him a little letter on the tape. I’ll paste it up this afternoon and send it off to him and it will fill in an hour or so because Hughie tells me he knows the Morse code. Any break in hospital is welcome.
Well, love, I must be off to school again. The day after you get this I will be on my way south, but don’t forget there may be a break in my letters about then, although I’ll try to avoid it.
Well, love, that’s all for today. Take care of yourself and don’t let the blues get the better of you. Get properly well, but don’t try to rush it.
Bye for now. All my love, angel. I still love you, pet.
Ever your own,
Arthur X

Thursday
Glasgow
Dearest,
This is going to do you no more good than it is doing me, for last night I found my way to that old haunt – the Press Club. When I tell you that one of the lads was looking for a non-existent dog and that I was carrying an orchid when we got back – as well as three ashtrays (familiar sign) – you will appreciate that I am in no mood or state to write a really coherent letter. We have been in school for a good five minutes now and all we are waiting for is the appearance of the instructor before we explain our needs and then we are off for an early and very necessary cup of tea! From long and bitter experience you know just how much tea means to me in circumstances like this.
Oh, if only you were here to make endless cups of tea for me as in the good old days! Still, a good time was had by all except that we had to pay far too large a proportion of our own beer – a state of affairs which would never have been tolerated in Liverpool, for I was at that really nice stage that we get to when I climb sombrely onto a chair, reach down the big silver loving cup and, to the great dismay of Georgie Porgie, insist on mixing a Johnsonian early morning cocktail which is always guaranteed to take the roof off anyone’s head.
At this stage I think that is about all I am capable of writing and, as we will not be at school this afternoon (because we have our bags and hammocks to pack) I doubt whether I will be able to add much more by hand in the dinner hour but I’ll try, love – by God I’ll try. Ta-ta for now and thank God I have a wife I can write to like this. If only I had been coming home to you last night it would have been perfect.
I have had those two cups of tea between 9.10 and 9.50 and now I’m just waiting for 10 o’clock so that I can have some more!
Many thanks for your letter but I cannot understand why you went letterless one day, for I have certainly written each day.
Well, love, this is the last letter from Glasgow! We thought we were going to be held up because of that confounded typewriter, but the police have cleared it up and have pulled in one of our lads who is now cooling his heels in clink. He sold it for a couple of quid!
I have had a letter from Eric who tells me he saw a lot of the children last week and that they were full of beans. He has been playing noughts and crosses and says Michael is very deliberate about it all but that Wendy is much quicker and, if they don’t watch her, she whips two Xs down at once!
Well, love, that’s the lot for now. I’m mad busy. Don’t worry about the children or about your appearance. All you have to think of is getting well again. We have heard from one of the lads at Chatham and from what he says it does not look as if we will get away by the weekend, so it will probably be Monday or Tuesday.
Now I must be off. Bye angel, and take care of yourself. All my love.
Ever your own,
Arthur X