Postmarked COLNE LANCS 4PM 3 JAN 1940
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme. D.W.R. Church House, Norton, Malton. Yorks
Albert House, Colne, Lancs.
Wed. 3rd Jan
My dearest Ronnie,
This postal delay is worrying me more than a little. Your letters to me have arrived promptly so far, but fancy my Saturday one only arriving yesterday. Sweetheart, you must have been feeling very lonely and unloved on Monday.
So today I am writing early and posting it before lunch. It is now just nearly twelve, and Henry Cotton’s band is playing “Love Never Grows Old”.
Gosh, it’s cold here. The pipe under the bathroom basin bust this morning, and the plumbers are in now. Foulridge reservoir is frozen, and there is skating. Irene Swire ‘phoned to ask Moué to go on this afternoon, but we are going to Peggy Sagars for tea.
Reg is at home – did I tell you? Moué was out with him yesterday evening, and I’m afraid Dad is going to be difficult. The same old thing over again. He told me he didn’t like it. He’d heard something about Reg, and anyway Moué was too young etc, etc. He hasn’t said anything to Moué yet, but he gave her one of his celebrated pained looks when she came in. Mum has gone and asked the lad to supper tonight – so I hope Pa doesn’t freeze him out. Anyway, he may not be able to come. He came in for a few minutes last night and Mum and I met him. He seems quite a nice boy; but not a patch on you Angel Boy. He hasn’t your twinkling eyes and quick smile.
I have nearly finished your gloves. Just one thumb to do, and then I’ve to press and sew them up. I have been doing a bit in all my odd moments.
Dad and Uncle Stan and James went across to the Hipp. last night to see “Robin Hood”. I have already seen it twice, but I want to go again with Mum and Moué. I think it was lovely. Romantic!
I don’t think I told you (you never tell me anything) that James went for an interview to Chester on Saturday – to do with the R.A.M.C. He has been advised to get his uniform, and may be called up in a fortnight – but maybe not for four or six weeks. Not longer anyway. Oh dear, have I told you before? You know I believe I have. What a memory.
Treasure, the time goes slowly when you are away. Do you think it will be the weekend of the 19th you get off? That is the weekend Bill is expected here. Dicky and Rita are probably running a party that weekend. “Oh hell,” says you “Oh hell” says me. I wish we could go to a really nice dance beloved. Dicky’s dos are so boring and unromantic. In fact, they make me squirm. All that Scottish dancing and messing around feeling cold! Painful. And I can’t make “my operation” the excuse for not doing the dances this year!
Is Prince still ok? If he is still constipated – although it was probably the change of air – give him some boiled milk. And if a more drastic method is necessary, give him medicated parefin (?) or olive oil. About a desert spoonful. Fancy the big softy being afraid of a wee goat. It was a goat you said, wasn’t it? Your letter is up the other stairs. I’m afraid he would never make a big game hunter. Sparrows are his limit!
Someone is just playing Willie’s pet Chopin’s Ballad in Ab Major. So Moué is listening, all ears. Now she will be able to tell Willie that it is beautiful.
I have just been eating a tangerine – so probably you will be able to smell it on the paper. You never had a single tanger or date (literal) when you were here. Which was very un-Christmasy dear. I think I’ll have to send you some Stuffed dates. I seem to remember you like them.
There is a very exciting story on the wireless. Oooh, it’s grim. About climbing a dangerous rock in Wales – “Devil’s Gully.”
Well sweet one, there is no more news – except that I love you. And that isn’t news – it’s history. Everyone knows it. Sweet boy, dear boy, my boy. Come home soon, because I am so lonely without you.
Dearest Ronald, I hope you get this letter tomorrow.
All my love treasure, Kathleen.