My Dear Bessie (29 page)

Sorry the brassiere did not fit. I should chuck the thing if I were you. No wonder you have no coupons! Oh, I wish I was a brassiere, touching you like that.

How do you pronounce DEVOTEE?

As I write this, you are probably pouring out tea for Mum. You dear girl.

I LOVE YOU.

Chris

*
Air-raid precautions.

*
An anti-malarial tablet.

*
South East Asia Command.

*
The ‘Mets' was the
Mets Journal
, a publication of the Union of Post Office Workers. Chris was a regular contributor and then editor.

8

Do Mention Marriage

16 July 1945

Joshua Reynolds born, 1723. Chris Barker conscripted, 1942.

Lovely woman, Darling Bessie, My Dearest, Dearest One,

Today marks the third anniversary of my being joined to the Army. The three years seems to have gone with fair speed, although I feel at times that certain periods have gone rather more quickly than others. I have been abroad 2 yrs 5 months. I have been writing you hopefully (I think it was hopefully) for nearly two years, lovingly for nearly eighteen months. Both periods seem far longer. I saw you last nearly four months ago, it seems much longer than that. I was captured seven months ago. It seems very much less. My impression of time is jumbled and confused. My main aim now is to get back to you, as soon as I can. To many, being apart must be almost like losing everything. But we have our written words to assure us that nothing of our understanding is forgotten.

This morning, I started Morse training. Said I could do five words a minute, and I am doing six, running the words together, putting Ys for Cs and so on. I don't know how long it will last, but it is probably better than picking up stones in the camp and it gets me out of the wind and the dust, which in the daytime are not so good.

One good thing that has been installed here is a Laundry, where you can go to do your washing. Plenty of hot water, scrubbing boards and brushes, and (take your turn in the queue) an iron. I am afraid I don't use it, as it is ½ mile away from my tent, and I can wash my clothes very easily at the ‘ablution benches' only fifty yards away. They soon dry in the sun and roaring wind, and I sleep on them at night to give them a crease.

I love you.

Chris

18 July 1945

Dr W.G. GRACE born, 1848

My Very Dearest, Loveliest One,

This morning I decided I would have a break. I reported sick, a beautifully long, drawn-out job. You report at 7.30, wait for a
truck to take you away at 8 o'clock, its motor is not heard till 8.30, you arrive at the Sick Bay at 9, and then wait for your name to be called. It was 11 o'clock before I got in to see the doctor, and by that time I had completely read
King Cole
by W.R. Burnett, an American published book portraying the Election for Governor of Ohio. I shall go sick again on Saturday. It's just like leave!

Last night in the camp, we had a turn by a magician. Rather boring after an hour. He explained, Italian fashion, his earlier tricks. The big thing, the piece de resistance, was that lead was turned into molten metal, he poured it into a spoon, and put it in his mouth, then spitting out a solid, but still very hot, piece of metal. The lead was heated by blow lamp, it was too hot to be touched by the two ‘witnesses' on the stage. I suppose he had some false plates of special heat-resisting metal in his mouth. But it was pretty good.

How would you like to live at Sanderstead, Croydon? Have you thought about moving out that way? As it is ‘one of those things', may I warn you not to discuss this with anyone. Later on it will be obvious why; for the moment I want to know what you think of Sanderstead; no chance remarks to anyone at my home, please, my dear.

I wrote yesterday to the Tottenham Registrar, Mr Grimaldi, asking for details of how to get married quickly. I pointed out it was a general question, particularly now that short leave is likely to be more widespread.

Incidentally, this morning at Sick Quarters, in a German POW Camp, I saw more Germans than I had ever seen before; thousands. I have only seen them in ones and twos, in hospitals
before we started having them working in the camp. Strange how we ‘fight' without seeing our mortal enemies. They have no doubt seen as few English as we have Germans.

I have written 298 letters in all since April 10th: 98 to you, 59 to Mum, 141 to others. 98, the number of this, was the last you got from me last year, I believe. So we are well up on the numbers this year, though the sooner we can talk to each other rather than write, the better for us both. Oh, my darling Bessie.

I love you.

Chris

19 July 1945

My Very Dearest,

I read with regret of the extraction of your teeth. The racketeers. I think I should go ahead and have the whole lot out now. It will save you a lot of trouble later on. And you'll almost certainly find a dentist who will tell you you would be better off without them.

Will not proceed further with these comments – as they are the major items you mention. But, take my advice, and watch your engagements carefully. Try and get some time to yourself. Certainly don't start leaving your Dad's darning and your own washing for non-important things. You must learn to refuse. I
shall be annoyed if you don't. It may be very wrong of me, but I shall be.

As for having your teeth out and do I still love you – I love you alright. I love you always. But your letter 52, comparatively long, gave me the impression of being rush-written, quickly and hardly with thought. I feel that you are riding for a nervous complaint, or something, and I am displeased. I'd very much like to get home and organise you, tell you what to do. I expect that is rather ‘bossy', but that is the feeling I have at the moment. But, for goodness' sake, do try to take it steadier. And do love me more than anything.

I love you.

Chris

20 July 1945

Dear Bessie,

I am sorry about your chest. You appear to have received expert attention, expert assurance. Myself, I should rub it with Vick, or Ellimans, anything, to try and produce a move. You say you have lost that ‘tiredness and general run-down feeling'. I must congratulate you, but I must warn you, too. I think you are rushing around too much.

I am not a bit hard on ‘The Tories'. They quite definitely are the biggest, the most expert, beautiful liars the political life of this country has ever seen. They lie every time they say they are National, they lie about what they propose to do, and what they have done.

I had better try and get a few words over to you on this Deb business, upon which you are ‘sorry', ‘No, I'm not even sorry', ‘really angry', ‘bloody trivial' and ‘truly sorry'. I am glad you are so frank, and hope you will always show me in this way how your mind is working. I find your plea for ‘more understanding' a bit awkward. Do you imagine me to be likely to intrigue with Deb against you? Or that I am likely to fall in love with her? Or to spend time on her instead of on you? Or to treat you in any inferior way because of her? What, otherwise, is this ‘torture' you suffer from? You say you are no longer desirous of sloshing her. I have a woman friend who happens also to be a friend of yours, or so I had imagined. Do I ditch her, slap her down or what? You be bold enough to tell me how you think I should act, and I have no doubt I can be understanding enough to do as you want. There are no secrets between you and I (I hope). I am a worried man at the moment, but I hope not a foolish one.

Please believe. I love you.

Chris

21 July 1945

Dearest Chris,

You blooming old Darling, I could hug and hug and hug you, for somehow saying all the right things, and being your so beautiful self, do you wonder that I get so blue? Look what I am doing without.

Yes, I felt more excited about the Labour Win than VE Day. Reeves got in with a 10,000 majority. Labour gain from Conservative too. I do wish everybody would stop striking now and give the government a chance to get into action, dash it all, a 40 hour week at this stage is a bit precipitate.

No, no, no, you are not wrongly interfering in my affairs, I want you, want you to interfere, for they are our affairs, our affairs, even when I protest, I want you to go on interfering, because maybe I am not very used to it yet, but I want to get used to it, we are dependent on each other, we cannot have any private life apart, for two people loving each other so much there is no other way but complete and utter surrender of everything. I should feel desolate if you didn't want to interfere, if you didn't have bossing thoughts, it gives me happiness to know that you have, forgive me any perversity I may indulge in, I am rather ordinarily human. Yes, it is my duty to us, that I take things easier, and I am trying to do that, I have become a martyr to my engagements and am cutting them down.

I know you are right Chris because they have been fretting me. It's funny how when you are run down, you seem driven on to
do more than you can, it's so difficult to stop rushing, even looks as though you've detected my state of nerves in my letters, never thought of it showing like that, but how I hated being told. Bless you dear for being what you are, for noticing, for being strong enough to tell me. You make me feel safe and sure in your keeping.