29th Oct 1939

Addressed to Ronald

Albert House, Colne.

29^th October.

My darling Ronnie,

Here am I lonely and unloved. Well, lonely anyway – and very much in need of a little cuddling and petting from you!

The great Riddough has arrived here, but I can’t be bothered going up to see him. I just don’t feel like it. So I’m in the drawing room all on my own. I like to be alone when I write to you because I can concentrate.

I haven’t packed a thing yet – though I suppose I have plenty of time. I wont be going till tomorrow afternoon as James has kindly said he would take us. Us being Mum and me. Now that the time has come, I’m not looking forward to it a bit. I guess I’ve had my own way too long now. I don’t think I’ll like returning to discipline a bit – even if it isn’t such strict discipline.

Anyway, 1 month isn’t long, and I think it will do me good. I wish it was nearer you, though.

To put the tin lid on things, I have had a pain during the night and all morning, which has made me feel very unsuited for hard work. However strong the will, the body has to go and spoil it. But I am definitely having injections when I come home.

I am missing you so much that I can hardly stand the thought of the ages I shall probably have to go on being without you. I can’t feel that it’s going to be a short war now, can you?

I am enclosing my photo (if I can find an envelope big enough for it) It looks a bit small perhaps – but I thought it would be a better size for you just now than a great big thing. Not very wonderful I’m afraid, but it’s me anyway. Please try and have yours taken soon.

How is your eye? I hope the inflammation has gone. I couldn’t do with your nice brown eyes being spoilt. Nor anything about your nice big body. So see and take care of yourself.

Mum, Moué, John Daphne and I went to the Queens last night to see “Brother Rat” Wayne Morris, and I can’t remember any other names. It was one of those Military Academy flicks, and was very funny in bits… There were a lot of soldiers in the picture house – privates of course! Nothing in your like Mr Helme. Or in mine.

I have been told this is the correct way to write on four sided paper – so I hope you can follow it. {front, back, middle left, middle right}

I forgot to tell you in my Friday letter how upset Granny was that you didn’t go to say goodbye to her. Oh dear, she was deeply grieved, and had been waiting for you. Why the old girl didn’t come down, I don’t know, because she was fully dressed. I said you were here such a short time that even I had hardly time to see you; and I soothed her down a little. She has predicted three marriages from this house soon – according to Mother. She says one is to be a double wedding. That, I believe means John’s and ours. That’s where the old bird’s wrong. I wouldn’t have a double wedding for anything. She actually went to the length of arranging the guests – or something completely wet. Sometimes I thinks she’s a little off it!

I’d just hate to have her at our wedding, wouldn’t you? But it looks as if she is going to go on and on and on!

Well darling, I’m afraid I’m just blethering, but you once said you didn’t mind that.

“Oh to be in Catterick now that Ronald’s there, for whoever wakes in Catterick sees the answer to my prayer.”

What is the answer? Ronald Helme, who looks so sweet and cuddlesome when he’s asleep in bed. I can still see you that morning at Kilconquhar as if it was yesterday – or better still today. Wouldn’t it be nice if it was today? But there are other days – far nicer than that, ahead.

…… Interruption. I have been to see Stanley. He has gone now. He is just brimming over with pride – in his great coat, which isn’t half as nice as yours. It is funny how when you were here he wasn’t half so puffed up as he is when it’s just us. He swaggered through the kitchen and into the yard. Then saluted so hard that it made him go red in the face – literally!

Well, I can’t expect anyone else to be as dear and nice as you – even though I suppose I do hen peck you a bit. I really will try to stop it because I don’t like hen peckers – and I do want to make you happy.

I am nearly crying because I want you so much. I’m hoping hard you’ll ‘phone tonight, but perhaps its very awkward for you at Catterick. Well Surely I hear from you tomorrow. All my love dearest, Kay