My Dear Bessie (39 page)

7 January 1946 [Second letter]

My Darling, Wonderful Wife,

I couldn't help but admire your infinite resource and initiative, and all the ability and capacity you have displayed.

£1,000 does seem a lot. As a matter of fact it is a lot. But I never thought I would start off married life in a house of our own, did you? We have been fortunate in acquiring the cash, and I think that the place will suit us fine until Janet – Christopher perhaps starts going to school. You have no idea how pleased I am you describe it as a ‘nice little house'.

‘How am I doing?' you ask. How can I say? There aren't enough words of praise, only my hug, my look, could tell
you how proud I am of you, thrilled by your efficiency and competence.

I love you.

Chris

8 January 1946

My Wonderful Wife,

When the chance occurs, I would like you to tell me about the house. Two rooms and kitchenette downstairs, three rooms (?) and bathroom upstairs? I suppose the lavatory and bathroom (is it at all tiled?) are together? Have you got your eye on the nursery-room? Is it a very small house? How do the rooms (particularly kitchenette) compare with 27? Is there an air of cheapness about it, as there used to be about some of the £600 houses they built at Welling before the war? (I don't think there can be or you would not have said ‘nice little house'.) Is there any Ascot, Geyser,
*
or anything? Why not write to Hoovers and ask them to put us on their waiting list? What is the garden like – as big as 27? Is it horribly weedy, does it have vegetables? (I advise employing a man to do the digging, if they can be obtained, like Aunt Elsie did.)

Don't do any gardening yourself, will you? You have so much to do, you know. Remember to rest occasionally, whatever you are
doing. I am as disturbed about your food as much as anything, and you must tell me what you propose to do about it, please. Can I send anything to help. How about soap? I could send a good bit if you wanted it. At the moment I have four bars of Sunlight soap weekly. Would you like them? You are bound to become friendly with some of the neighbours. There is no reason why real friendship should not develop, but do not forget all the tales about neighbours.

Haven't I heard there's trouble getting prams? If you do any painting, don't breathe it in, you won't get lead poisoning or Painter's Colic, but it may upset your digestion more.

I wish I could have seen you put the key in the door, my darling, my dearest one.

I love you.

Chris

9 January 1946

My Wonderful One,

It is semi-detached isn't it, on the 27-161 model. I think Bert said once there was room for a garage, but none there – I suppose like 27. I think I'd like to get a hut out in the garden or something. I don't know why. I want to acquire a set of carpentry and
household tools, as I said on leave. Saw, plane, chisel, as well as the old hammer (an instrument used for bashing one's own nails and fingers).

I favour a serving hatch between the kitchenette and the dining room, for one thing! I bet you won't have that. Ten children will take some feeding though, won't they! Does the house need painting on the outside, as well as receiving your slight attention in some of the rooms? One good thing about not having a great deal of furniture is that you will be able to plan things better. In most homes, there's far too much and it's bunged in as few rooms as possible. You'll probably find it desirable to put a piece of furniture in each room, so that it is furnished. I was thinking about the floors – you know the polishing idea. If the wood was not altogether suitable, could you put a veneer of three ply down? It would only be needed round the edges of the room, I suppose, where the carpet touched it.

When you get a bit settled in I will get you to enrol me in the Croydon Labour Party, and (if you will) to join yourself. It is a penny or so a week.

I wonder if there is a privet hedge, whether the gate swings alright, and what the path is made of. In my imagination, I am already coming there for the first time (fancy finding your way to your own home) AND YOU ARE MEETING ME.

I love you.

Chris

10 January 1946

My Darling,

What colour is the house painted, my darling? Keep your eye open for a ladder in case I have to climb one to see what is stopping up the chimney! I say, are we bringing Janet – Christopher up to believe in Santa Claus? What a task that bringing-up is going to be – principally for you, I am afraid, my darling, my heroine. Have all the rooms got fireplaces in them? (In Italy there are very few fireplaces in houses. They don't need them. In winter they just have a brazier in the middle of the room.) We must get electric fires in all the rooms – and bags and bags of switches everywhere!

Is East Croydon nearer London or further from it? My idea of a back garden is either all grass (they call it LAWN in those parts) or a good lot of space for such vegetables as lettuce, celery, radish, rhubarb. The grass would be for Janet – Christopher. I am busting with the news about Janet – C, but shan't tell anyone here.

I love you.

Chris

11 January 1946

My Wonderful, Wonderful Wife,

I hope you went to your old friend's wedding, but that you didn't feast too much.

I am quite the same as you about family, friends and old associations. I don't want them now. I have no urge towards them, I am disinterested. I am only interested in you, and you take all my thoughts and all my time and I am very pleased about it. This relationship is wonderful; I am entirely, completely and absolutely satisfied in and with you. We have to drag along with some acquaintances, but it is no good pretending they have any real claim.

My Darling, I could cry for you sometimes, too, because in my way I could do with some soothing too – and you are the only one to do it.

Will you try to feed Janet – C. yourself if you can, or will it be a ‘Glaxo' baby, please? But then, I don't suppose you know till you've seen the Clinic. Of course you won't be a blind and stupid parent – but you'll be vocal to me about ‘young Janet' or ‘young Christopher's' alleged shortcomings as well as their evident excellences. And I shall encourage it. Of course we'll discuss our children –
and
their friends. Our children will have all the freedom that
we
think is good for them. I believe that a parent has a useful purpose, and I am not going to be a neutral and I won't let you be.
Our
parental powers, though, will be 20th century, mutually-agreed between us, and wisely wielded. I hope.
We should be silly to keep our children in ignorance because we also want them to have ‘freedom'. Our children will respect us as people, not as mere parents. I hope.

[Incomplete]

13 January 1946

My Darling Bessie,

Do you prefer a hospital to a nursing home, Bessie my darling? I hope you do.

How are you going on about your ‘artificial dentures' (to give them their modern and almost unrecognisable name). Hadn't you better get them as soon as you can, in order to get used to them while you are fairly normal? I believe it is true that child bearing is bad for teeth, the calcium being required for the baby, so I am afraid your teething troubles will just about be starting.

A bright idea: going to Sanderstead gives me another MP I can legitimately write to! I have not yet heard from Joseph Reeves, but Harold Macmillan has written twice, so I think I'll vote Conservative next time …

All the oranges and lemons in the grounds of my billet (the Via Vitello, near Via Salute stazione, if you are ever this way!) have
been picked by the owner, so now, for a sly suck, I am dependent on the orchard where our cookhouse is at present. Of course, we get oranges for rations. I eat all I can get, most chaps just ignore them.

I am always thinking of you, wondering what you are doing and knowing that you look lovely doing it.

I love you.

Chris.

19 January 1946

My Darling, Wonderful Wife,

Have just decided we must get a magic lantern for Janet – C. A little previous, but there you are, we are projecting ourselves six months ahead all the time, until we are together; it is only a little step to think of Janet – C. as a bouncing reality.