Postmarked COLNE LANCS 7.15pm 10 Sep 1939
addressed to Lieutenant R. Helme. D.W.R., attatched to R.A.F. Depot, Yeadon, Leeds
Albert House. Colne. Lancs. Tel.No.282
Sunday
My dearest,
Today I am overcome by a great hate of myself for having spoilt yesterday afternoon. I am an ass, a fool, an idiot, an ungrateful wretch, and I don’t know how you can be bothered with me. I suppose you are very disappointed in me – and I do seem to be forever giving you reason to be disappointed in me.
Oh well, the past is past, and once more, I shall make an effort to be as you would have me be – which would be a damn sight nicer than I am.
I am feeling very lonely today, and the weather doesn’t make matters any better. It is pouring. I would go for a wet walk if I hadn’t just washed my hair.
Yesterday after tea, I took Prince for a good walk – between the two resevoirs and over the fields – down into Foulridge, up Red Lane and down threw the fields. There I was all on my own feeling like a wet week! It was a lovely evening, and it was difficult to think there was a war going on, and that my dear Ronald was chasing round the countryside in uniform. But I suppose it will soon be over, and we will be back to the old sweet life. Then we can get married and raise a brood. Well, a small brood! Heaven hasten the day for I’m weary of waiting.
I met the great Miss Ritchie this afternoon. She and Sam were in here to collect John and Daphne – who by the way, are now officially engaged – at last. It only meant changing the ring from one hand to the other. I guess they will be content for a bit now.
Granny must be feeling a little nearer to her ambition: to present Beauty and the Policeman to her first great grandchild! She is probably thinking it all out now. Today she said to me, “And what about you?” (Marj had just told her she was engaged to a housepainter) I said I had been married for six months. She asked me what I was living on, and I said love!
I hope – and suppose you are very comfortable at this new place. I also hope you have a fair amount of work to do, as it will keep you occupied properly, and should prevent you doing anything daft like flying. I have a feeling you are far safer on the ground.
We were at Church this morning, but I didn’t see any representative of your family. It was the Bishop of Blackburn preaching – and he gave us a very good sermon which made me feel a great deal better. I find him very fascinating to watch and listen to.
The Northern Daily Telegraph reporter sat right behind me, and took down the sermon. I could hear his pencil scraping away the whole time, which was slightly putting off. The Church was more crowded than I have seen it for ages. We, as usual a bit late, had to sit right at the front. We didn’t take our gas masks, but nearly everyone else did.
I hope you’ve got yours back, or that you have one that fits.
Marjory has just gone up to the Town Hall to do four hours telephone duty for them. She has just to sit and listen for the ‘phone, and ‘phone Mr Venables if there is anything important. She will probably be bored stiff, and has set out well armed with mags etc.
I dreamt I was in a bus with your Mother and you, and we seemed to be in Manchester. We seemed to spend most of our time changing seats. I was bitten by a pointer, but didn’t seem very bothered about it. I have used the word seem three times in that short paragraph, which shows I am in a very bad state. My mind is slipping – to Yeadon, I suppose.
The days are very long, and it seems years since this war started – so heaven knows what it will feel like in another few months. Evidently, we are preparing for a three years war. So if we have anything at all to live on, we’ll be married before it finishes. That is to say, if I haven’t crippled you for life with my bad temper or driven you daft with my stupidity. How I hate myself today. The sooner I start doing something the better. But the nursery school won’t start till the schools start – maybe a bit after that, as they don’t seem to have decided upon anything yet.
We have been asked to use up odd wool in knitting blankets for babies – so that is how I am filling in my odd moments (or I should say hours). They may be warm, but they certainly aren’t beautiful – in all different colours and textures of wool. The children will grow up colour blind, I’m sure.
You seem to be miles and miles and miles away, and I keep having to tell myself you aren’t. I suppose you are in a danger area though, which is not a pleasant thought, but you will be saying if that’s all the danger you are exposed to, I should be thankful. Well I am.
It still rains, and I still hate myself, and I still love you. Yes, I have a queer way of showing it. I am very queer, it seems. And I think I am about to weep; or perhaps I shall change it to a nose blow! That seems to be the wisest thing to do.
Prince sends his love, and says he is missing you holding his lead, and wishes you to come back and see us as soon as poss. He is very anctious that I should tell you that the judge has written in “Our Dogs” that he is a well grown youngster; but is not so keen on me telling you that he is a little too nervous, but time will be to his advantage. Alas, he has just made a terrible smell. Let’s hope that time will assist him in growing out of that bad habit. Oh dear, where’s my resperater. (Spelling?)
When I see all these people enjoying themselves together, it makes me mad; but as you say, I must get used to being without. Though you shouldn’t be pleased really if I did.
There goes the gong for a cup of tea downstairs, so I’d better pip.
Please love me – and try to be blind to my horrible faults. I am, however poor a sweetheart I make, in love with you and live to see you again. All my love, your Kathleen