Postmarked COLNE LANCS 5.15AM 5 FEB 1940
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, D.W.R., The King’s Hotel, Barnard Castle, Durham
Albert House, Colne, Lancs
4th Feb.
My dearest Ronald,
Which is really not the half of what you mean to me. Honey, I love you most painfully, and it was sweet of you to ‘phone me again last night. You are the nicest fiancé, aren’t you? If you were here I should most certainly squeeze you in two. Well, metaphorically.
I expect you will be in Barnard Castle now. I forgot to ask you when you expected to arrive there – or even how you were getting. Dear me, I never say all I want to say on these occasions.
Fancy John Horsfall getting married so soon. Well, well, well. Some people have all the luck. I suppose Donald will be getting married. Then it will only take Geoff running off with some blond barmaid to make me completely green! Still, he that waits is well rewarded – which I think I have made up on the spur of the moment, but someone’s said something of that sort before. Anyway Angel Boy, the day will come, and we’ll be happier than all of them put together – us and our little brood. Or should it be we? The great Miss Eadie’s grammar goes to pot for the sake of sentiment. One of these days she’ll be saying “Just you and I.”
I was interested about Major Lawlor. Miss Jobson was just saying to Mum yesterday morning that her brother in law (his batman) had said that Lawlor was being transferred to – I mean – being sent to India, and being promoted to Lt. Colonel. He is getting his batman transferred to the R.A.M.C. as he will not be able to keep him – and this chap was in the R.A.M.C. in the last war. It must sound involved, but it sounded as if Lawlor was leaving you. She seemed quite sure he was going to India. Maybe you’ll go to India? But then if the whole lot was going why would he not be able to keep his batman? Anyway –
Gee, there is some modern classical music on the wireless, and it’s so modern that it reminds me of workman hanging iron girders. It’s supposed to be a water fall. Some waterfall.
Have you been thinking of me at eleven o’clock every night. Now don’t say you’ve forgotten. Well don’t forget, because it’s lovely to know that we are both thinking of each other for certain at that time.
Moué is asking the meaning of I.S. She wants to know if it stands for Irene Swire – probably because we added M.F.E. She is writing to Reg but can’t think of anything to say, so Marj has started dictating a letter. She sent that photo of herself with John on the beach and forgot to say who the boy was – so of course, the poor lad has written back an enquiring letter. Isn’t it sweet?!
I have finished Rebecca and I thought it was a very good book. I have enjoyed reading it and thanks a million (“school girl language”) you are a darling, a pet, and I want to do all kinds of things with you and for you. I want to hug you and kiss you and mother you and husband – no, I mean wife you.
As I have been lying in my sick bed I have been dreaming of you. You know the sort of dreams you had. Well mine were very similar.
My sisters are making the devil of a row. What creatures they are. There is a dame singing on the wireless now, and she sounds rather like Elina Danielli. Quite good.
I haven’t answered the Land Army letter yet. I suppose I just wont. I wish this lousy war would wash itself out. I heard from Mary Campbell yesterday (the Malton girl) and she has a job as tractor driver somewhere in that district. She tells me of one or two people who have got jobs round York way.
I’ll get back to my writing (so called) now I suppose. I’ll start tomorrow, and see if I can’t make some money. Hopeful.
Your confidential news about March leave saddens me, but doesn’t come (h)as a surprise to me. I’ll leave that ‘h’ in so as you can laugh at me!
Shall we go to St. Andrews for a day or two? Mum will chaperone us. I wish we needn’t be chaperoned, but that’s quite impossible – alack. The week will fly I suppose – as lovely times always do. May Hitler and all his gang burn in everlasting Hell fire and I really mean that.
Paper is to be rationed so I shall have to go easy on it wont I? Oh dear, how I adore you. I could take up two pages with endearments alone.
Your pullover is growing steadily, but as it is to have long sleeves it will take me some time to do. You are nice, aren’t you?
I wonder where my other letter has got to. It will probably reach Malton tomorrow. As long as no one else reads it, and you get it eventually it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t a particularly nice letter anyway. Not nearly as nice as I wanted it to be.
It seems that I am about to start another page, and I must fill it as I can’t waste paper these days.
My pain is better now T.G. It was getting on my nerves a bit, and if it was wind it lasted a darned long time. But Daddy said it was possible for wind to be lodged in the something or other for that length of time. Well, I hope it stays away. My throat is quite better. Are you all right, my lamb? Don’t get anymore cold. I can see myself knitting you bed-socks – which will serve until I can keep you warm myself. You will probably be keeping me warm in actual fact. Well anyway, we will keep each other warm – and it will be heavenly in any case.
I needn’t ask you to write as often as you can this week. Nor need I ask you to be good. Think of me every night at eleven – and a great deal oftener than that.
Most important, remember I love you very very much, and my big ambition is you.
Kisses, cuddles and caresses,
Yours, Kay.