Postmarked COLNE LANCS 7:15PM 17 MCH 1940
addressed Lieut. R. Helme, D.W.R., Church House, Norton, Malton. Yorks.
Albert House, Colne, Lancs.
17th March.
My darling Ronnie,
Another scrawl from your charming fiancé who is loving you as much as ever. Unfortunately she is writing on an unsteady table, and her chair is too high. Also she is not very warm, and the fire is poor. Otherwise, she is very comfortable!?
We have been to Church this morning and The Macvick has given another of his inspiring sermons – hem! hem! He has also dolled out some more pamphlets – yet another pamphlet raid. The soldiers were in Church again today, and the Lieutenant is a queer old bird at close quarters. He suffers from corns judging from the way he walks.
We had a great day in Manchester yesterday, and the play was really excellent. In fact I would like to relapse into the old schoolgirl style and say it was marvellous, wonderful etc, but I had better not.
It was very well done – both in the production, acting, scenery – everything. There was only one scene all the way through the three acts, but it was a beautiful one: The hall at Manderley with a lovely staircase going up the right hand side, and the passage beyond. There were double doors – I should say there was a double door in the back centre and a most impressive hall place beyond. It really was a most realistic scene.
Owen Nares was of course as good looking as ever, and made an excellent Maxim. Celia Jonson was very good as the wife, and was just clumsy and gauche enough without looking too much of a freak with it all. We went to the stage door after for Marj’s and Moué’s benefits; but Owen had slipped out before we arrived. They managed to get Celia Jonson’s auto. I’m afraid I don’t like autograph hunting. I am too proud to make myself look inferior. Even as I stood at the stage door, I thought to myself “Why am I standing here with all these silly people. Why should I come to see a few actors and actresses going home when someday I may be more important than they are.” You see there is still a bit of me that insists that I am going to do something rather clever someday. I think it’s dead, then up it pops again to give me a dig in the back – this beastly ambition.
Moué and I went to Walker & Hall’s to buy the tankard, and chose a nice one (I think) very quickly. It is to have Dr Macauley’s initials put on it. We then went to Kendal where I Joan and Marj were. They had bumped into Hilda Patterson – Donald Ritty’s girl, and as she was all alone we had lunch together at Sissons. I like her, and find she has much more about her than Marjorie Tattersall Beatrice etc. Of course she isn’t really in their crowd… She was meeting her sister in the afternoon, and going to the Vic Wells Ballet at night.
We also met an “old Pembrosian” – my year, and had a talk with her. She was at “Rebecca”.
We got the ten to six bus home.
My uniform had arrived, so I donned it, and immediately became the envy of Joan and the sisters. Actually, I don’t think I look very smart in it. At least the breeches aren’t very chic but they’ll have to do. I wear a very posh armlet – green with a red crown on it. I’ll don the whole thing when you come home.
Are you coming home? I suppose you know about as much as I do. I am longing to know; and if you don’t come I’m afraid I shall be very disappointed. It seems that you haven’t written to your Mother for a bit prescious. Perhaps you are writing today. Or she may have received a letter yesterday.
Already I have been thinking what we will do when and if you come hoe for Easter but so far I have got no farther than the cuddling and caressing. How long is it since I saw you? It seems an apauling age.
Do come, do come. It will make such a difference to me. I just live to see you, and always I am thinking of the next time, the next time. If only we knew when this war is to be over we could make some plans. I mean real plans – not just dreams.
I am looking forward to a letter from you tomorrow because you’ll surely know your plans by then. Infact, you might, just might ‘phone tonight.
All my love dearest, Kathleen
P.S. A terrible letter full of errors, crossouts etc. please forgive it. The heart is willing but the brain is weak!