My Dear Bessie (15 page)

I love you.

Chris

6 October 1944

My dearest one,

I am feeling a little tired tonight, so if this letter sprawls ungainly over the page, and I get irritable, please forgive me. I have done the last of four parcels for my brother – and – what do you think, sewn up another tin, this time containing a tin of green oranges (about a dozen) for you. I am a little dizzy now with what is on the way to you, but here is my diary record:

Sep 18 – NUTS

26 – NUTS

27 -NUTS

Oct 5 – NUTS (and 2 lemons)

6 – ORANGES (1 lemon).

I hope they all arrive safely, and that the fruit is in good condition. I feel that you must get some, and if you don't I shall be extremely displeased with someone. I picked the oranges and lemons off the trees myself!

There are two things that have been in my mind to say since receiving the wonderful letters 33, 34, 35. One was to say that I do not like the word ‘nipple', either. I hesitated quite a bit before using it, but decided I would have to, to say what I meant. You will see by now that I later on said ‘tips' in another letter. I'm sorry; I hope you found the alternative acceptable. The other thing was the power you imparted into ‘vital vibrant spot'. My dearest, I received everything, all the whole of what you intended. I was very close, I was very near, I was very stirred.

Your list of favourite poets interested me, but I was mistaken in my previous choice. I will have another try as I get the opportunity.

How is your tobacco taboo proceeding? I hope you are holding out and bearing up, my brave and courageous lady.

I wonder when I shall get your handkerchief, to smell, to feel, to hold against me. I want it a lot, something from you, something of you. Blow me, Bessie, I could do with you, near me, beside me, with me. Some day I shall come to you and speak to you, of what you are to me, of what you mean; I shall thank you for all that you have done. I shall ask you to take the big chance and marry me. I shall ask you to live with me. I shall ask for your sympathy.

I love you.

Chris

9 October 1944

Dearest,

As anticipated I was able to get into the nearby town today, and am writing now in one of the two excellent NAAFIs which it possesses. I shall be able to write this without interruption because I am my own boss for a precious brief period, and can do as I please.

When I first reached a side street, several little boys asked me if I wanted a girl: I thought it better not to try to explain to them that you are the only one I WANT. The stalls yielded no fresh treasures. I think it would be a good idea if you were to let me have your sizes (other than shoes, unless the 5½ slipper is a larger size than the ordinary walking shoe) and also tell me how many yards of material you need to make a blouse, dress, skirt.

Another thing I thought was, perhaps now that winter was upon you, your thoughts were turning to knitting socks for me. (Pardon the presumption if you hadn't toyed with the idea.) Well, please don't, and don't be unhappy at not being able to spread your activities on my behalf to my feet. I left England with 13 pairs of socks. Over a year ago, when we thought we were moving somewhere, I had to get rid of 10 pairs, the Army number being 3. The number is adequate, and others are an embarrassment at times when, in order to lighten the load, our kit bags are taken from us. Of course, I'd like you here to darn them (though I fancy they would remain undarned if you were here!) but that is not possible.

Various blokes have ‘heard it on the wireless', but I haven't seen in the newspapers, a statement by Churchill that you may be able to confirm, that before being sent to the Far East, chaps out here would get home leave. It seems too fair to be true, but I wondered if it was. If so, and I came home under that scheme, we could get married if you then feel as I do, we could get married, we could live together and sleep together and be together. I used to feel that embarkation leave marriages (of little more than juveniles) was a mistake, but perhaps we are not juveniles and in any case if I was anywhere near you I could not keep from you, and I don't think I should try it.

What a joy in the meetings of everyday. To be able to see you whenever I wanted! To be able to go about together, to wash up together, to go to the pictures – and come home.

I love you.

Chris

10 October 1944

My dearest, dearest Bessie,

I must write this very quickly to be sure of its despatch.

Yesterday, after my town visit, I returned to the village fairly miserable, rather dejected, and hoped for mail. It was
10 o'clock at night, and there was mail. Your 37, and your pen and handkerchief. I tell you that I was struck powerfully with the wonder and delight of you. The pen (I am using it now, this is the first time. It is going well), an indication of you, the handkerchief – oh, my dearest, nearly a revelation of you. I was hot and weary. I unfolded it, took off my spectacles and buried my face in your sweetness. It was cool, fragrant, hope giving. I cannot tell you of the happiness and quiet sense of being at home that I felt as I kept my face to it, as I smelt YOU; it was an experience. A wonderful, wonderful lightening of my burden. When I finally took my face away I felt that I had had a little secret while with you.

I love you.

Chris

12 October 1944

My Dearest,

I had just sealed down No. 65 when your 39 was handed to me (38 missing). It was the one where you had been disturbed in the bath, an alarming affair which I can appreciate but little, even though I have had ‘alerts' when in the bath at home. Such a little more clothes on and we feel so much safer. Of course, I had no
comets overhead to frighten me. What a time you are having, and I do hope you will be completely safe throughout your upsets. I am glad you are not a bath fiend. The average working person hasn't the time to bath daily. I always think drying is a nuisance. If the water has been hot, the bathroom is very moist, and the towel does not really dry you, it just stops you being so wet. I can imagine you sitting in the bath and reading my letters, but surely looking at photographs and bathing is a hazardous combined operation?

I think that I had better take the opportunity of saying now that I hope your birthday passes happily, and that it will be the last one you celebrate as Miss Moore, Mrs Barker. I am sorry there isn't any chance of being with you in person, to celebrate the fact of you, and I feel that you are not likely to get a letter from me on that day. But do remember I shall be thinking ‘It is the 26th. It is HER birthday.'

I like Richmond. I have been there often, and know it fairly well, but not in the winter when your ‘low lying, near river' criticisms are no doubt well merited. Sevenoaks is about 45 minutes by train from Charing Cross, probably a little too far for us. But I like SE. Don't go anywhere special, please, just keep your eyes open and think where you would feel yourself most happy. Although we keep assuring each other that we shall be ‘poor but happy', I think our financial position will be fairly sound (after Orpington, as I have heard the porter at London Bridge call out so often, the stations are CHELMSFORD, KNOCKHOLT, DUNTON GREEN, and SEVENOAKS).

I don't think you are likely to be a ball and chain to me. You are likely to be the grease on the banisters down which I slide. You have never shocked me, you never will. You always thrill me and make me glad and proud about the possession of you. Elizabeth, I love you. Let there be no regrets ever.

Chris

26 October 1944

My Dear Bessie,

I think I may now tell you what I can about this ship, which is travelling through the sea as I write this, with me looking out to sea. It is the best of the three ships I have been on. We have bunks, and I am in the middle of a tier of three, mattresses are provided, also two blankets, and the whole atmosphere below decks is much cooler than other ships, although a great deal of this is due to the weather, which here is no warmer than an English June day. Our meals are eaten in another part of the ship (not under our bed space as in my two previous ships) and they are excellently cooked and tastily served, although rather small. Instead of two sweating mess underlings attending you, the meals are served direct from the galley, cafeteria fashion; you only need your own mug and knife,
fork and spoon, as your plate consists of a metal moulded tray, with six declivities of varying size: the bread goes in one, the sweet in another, the pickles in another, the cheese in another. The tray is a kind of stainless steel, shines brightly, and is rather nice. Probably you know the stunt, maybe your own British Restaurant (‘Plonk – Plonk – Splash' as you once said) uses it.

It is a pity that I am now a few miles further off you than when I was in Italy, but so long as I am on the same continent, I am fairly happy. I have wanted for some time to go to places where Allied Armies had not tramped too much. I prefer to help blaze a trail (in this unit!) than follow after several millions have used it. I should be able to write fairly interestingly of this new country, but you will not expect anything ‘startling', since anything in that direction is forbidden.