of my second name; we were each asked 5 words, I gained the others through correct spelling of words RAF couldnât manage. My brother was poor (he never could spell) but others were worse.
Do you get a glimmering of my delight in you, my need for you, my love of you? I wonder.
Chris
17 May 1944
Dear Bessie,
A lot of good things have happened to me lately. Today, after what has seemed a long, long, time I have received two LCs from you, thus terminating any doubts that I had that you had been bombed, or run off with an American, which seems the modern equivalent of the âfate worse than deathâ lark.
Good Thing No. 2 is the news that I should be commencing leave on the 22nd, and should get seven clear days in Alexandria, bathing (which is nothing new but nevertheless delightful), eating excellent food and ices, drinking all the milk and minerals my stomach desires, and looking, once again, at houses and paved streets, young children and trees.
The third Good Thing is that this week I am doing an easy job, not telephone operating, which enables me to write in peace (I wrote five letters today and have ten more to do, such has been my inertia of late) and sleep at night (tonight is the first time I have had five consecutive nights in bed since November.
Now to your letters and our love: Where did you go for leave, and with whom? (I imagine, Iris.) Tell me all about it at your leisure please. Please prepare for about a fortnight without letters while I am away. I shall try to write if there are facilities, but remember I am chaperoned.
Did you understand that my fellow sitter in the photo, the âchap named Barkerâ, was my brother? He is a fine chap, sorry you cut him to pieces.
Congratulations, before I inconsiderately forget, on the really good efforts you are making at small writing, I hope youâll maintain the standard.
So your Dad knows ⦠It couldnât be avoided. It was inevitable, and perhaps desirable. But do keep on holding him to practical silence. If your brother Wilfred tells any of his pals, the secret (for what it is worth) will be out within a month. You had better tell him, but urge him to treat it as a whisper. I think it is better to keep our state shielded for the present, but no doubt we shall haveto talk later. But I want to tell you something first, and I can only do so in my own time. If you feel I should write your Dad, let me know and Iâll do as you say. I always remember âGod gave us our relations, but he left us to choose our friendsâ.
I feel very relieved that you are not RC, and that the cross had no real significance, and that at least we shall not fight over religion, the cause of so much fighting. I am an agnostic, but I have âC of Eâ on my identity discs (usually I do not wear them, but I shall do so next week in case I get slugged).
One day I shall actually see you. One day we shall really be together. Then we shall really begin to live, and our education will have begun. I hope you really have got an appetite (the other chap in our tent never eats a dinner, only a sweet) but anyhow Iâll give you one. Youâll never get an easier bloke to cook for if you live to be a 100.
I donât remember calling you a âflapperâ but I expect I thought it was justified. My dictionary tells me it means âA young girl, not yet outâ. It sounds as though I was right, donât you think? Anyway, we are now both flapping wildly at each other in a pretty successful endeavour to persuade the other that this is âitâ. One day I shall come to you. I shall take you and you will be glad. Together, we will rejoice.
I love you.
Chris
A photo strip sent to Bessie in 1944
20 May 1944
My dear and lovely Bessie,
Today there came your LC of May 10th, to tell me that Iris (but oh no, not Lil Hale!) was now aware of our altered state. It doesnât worry me at all, and I fully understand the difficulty of
Do you get a glimmering of my delight in you, my need for you, my love of you? I wonder.
Chris
17 May 1944
Dear Bessie,
A lot of good things have happened to me lately. Today, after what has seemed a long, long, time I have received two LCs from you, thus terminating any doubts that I had that you had been bombed, or run off with an American, which seems the modern equivalent of the âfate worse than deathâ lark.
Good Thing No. 2 is the news that I should be commencing leave on the 22nd, and should get seven clear days in Alexandria, bathing (which is nothing new but nevertheless delightful), eating excellent food and ices, drinking all the milk and minerals my stomach desires, and looking, once again, at houses and paved streets, young children and trees.
The third Good Thing is that this week I am doing an easy job, not telephone operating, which enables me to write in peace (I wrote five letters today and have ten more to do, such has been my inertia of late) and sleep at night (tonight is the first time I have had five consecutive nights in bed since November.
Now to your letters and our love: Where did you go for leave, and with whom? (I imagine, Iris.) Tell me all about it at your leisure please. Please prepare for about a fortnight without letters while I am away. I shall try to write if there are facilities, but remember I am chaperoned.
Did you understand that my fellow sitter in the photo, the âchap named Barkerâ, was my brother? He is a fine chap, sorry you cut him to pieces.
Congratulations, before I inconsiderately forget, on the really good efforts you are making at small writing, I hope youâll maintain the standard.
So your Dad knows ⦠It couldnât be avoided. It was inevitable, and perhaps desirable. But do keep on holding him to practical silence. If your brother Wilfred tells any of his pals, the secret (for what it is worth) will be out within a month. You had better tell him, but urge him to treat it as a whisper. I think it is better to keep our state shielded for the present, but no doubt we shall haveto talk later. But I want to tell you something first, and I can only do so in my own time. If you feel I should write your Dad, let me know and Iâll do as you say. I always remember âGod gave us our relations, but he left us to choose our friendsâ.
I feel very relieved that you are not RC, and that the cross had no real significance, and that at least we shall not fight over religion, the cause of so much fighting. I am an agnostic, but I have âC of Eâ on my identity discs (usually I do not wear them, but I shall do so next week in case I get slugged).
One day I shall actually see you. One day we shall really be together. Then we shall really begin to live, and our education will have begun. I hope you really have got an appetite (the other chap in our tent never eats a dinner, only a sweet) but anyhow Iâll give you one. Youâll never get an easier bloke to cook for if you live to be a 100.
I donât remember calling you a âflapperâ but I expect I thought it was justified. My dictionary tells me it means âA young girl, not yet outâ. It sounds as though I was right, donât you think? Anyway, we are now both flapping wildly at each other in a pretty successful endeavour to persuade the other that this is âitâ. One day I shall come to you. I shall take you and you will be glad. Together, we will rejoice.
I love you.
Chris
A photo strip sent to Bessie in 1944
20 May 1944
My dear and lovely Bessie,
Today there came your LC of May 10th, to tell me that Iris (but oh no, not Lil Hale!) was now aware of our altered state. It doesnât worry me at all, and I fully understand the difficulty of
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