Postmarked COLNE LANCS 6DEC 39
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, D.W.R., The Goathland Hotel, Goathland. Yorks.
Albert House, Colne, Lancs.
Wednesday
My darling Ronnie,
You will receive today my Pa’s letter – also a scrap from me. Which reminds me my belovéd, as all things remind me, that I love you.
I have been to the hospital this morning to have my arm xrayed, and Matron was asking for my “young man”. I was tempted to say “My fiancé you mean” My fiancé – wont it be lovely. It will soon be “my husband”.
To return to my arm, it is probably slightly cracked at the elbow joint, but not broken, or out of joint – thank goodness. If it is a crack (they can’t say definitely till the plates are dry) it should be fairly o.k. in a week or two.
Pardon terrible scrawl. I can’t hold the paper still, and it becomes increasingly difficult as I get down the page. I shall only have to use the front of the pages when the paper is still attatched to the pad. That’s better.
Someone at the front door. A male voice. I am in the dining room as the Club fire was so poor when I was up… The man departs.
Mum is in bed today feeling rotten with a bad cold and a slight temp. She has got her fire on. She thinks she got cold through her day in bed on Sunday, as she was sitting up knitting in the cold room. Tootle!
Oh for a sight of you now my lamb. I can’t even knit your helmet now – so I shall just have to sit and think of you.
Will you be able to get some more ‘T’s after the war, as I would like to have the ones you sent me. I have a cute idea, and it would mean having the backs taken off leaving just the T. I would also like one of your small brass buttons if you can find one you don’t need. It must be a small one, as the big one I already have is too clumsy for the purpose for which I want it.
I am interested to hear about John Harsfall’s engagement. I wish I could have seen the pictures in the Y.Post, but I shall probably see the one you sent your Mother sometime.
Do you think your Mother is pleased about us? You are her only infant, and I bet you mean a lot to her. And you mean a terrific lot to me. I can’t ever hope to express just what an amazing amount you mean to me.
Matron is running a dance in the Municipal on the 5th January. It is a 5/- affair, and will probably be about the last dance in the district this year, as all the others are 1/- 1/6 and 2/- I wish you could be at home for it. It would be quite like old times. How I sigh for those old times.
Marj went to a dance at the Imperial last night. She went with Margaret Riddiough, as a free lance, and had a very amusing evening. It was 1/6, and all the toughs were there, but the two of them enjoyed it immensely, as it was very much lacking in formality. I’m sure I shouldn’t have liked it – unless I’d been with you of course.
Royd Smith was there and I’m afraid Marj played up to the poor lad, and he wants to take her to a dance on the fifteenth. It’s a W.V.S. thing in aid of the hospital – run by Matty Ratcliffe. 2/-
Moué and I went to the flicks with ‘the boys’ last night (dad Uncle Stan and James). We saw an excellent film called “The Spy in Black” with Conrad Viedt and Valerie Hobson. It was absolutely topical: u boats, depth charges, the Orkneys etc. You must try and see it, as it’s up to the minute, and a good tale. Who says the British can’t make films? It’s at the Odeon by the way, so it may be in Nelson when you come home. I could see it again with you with pleasure. Only being of a perverse nature, you would probably dislike it, you brown eyed b b b -beauty.
I’d love to see your brown eyes now dear. I am feeling very motherly towards you today. In fact, if you were here I’m sure I should want to part your hair, and kiss your brow, and press your head against my bosom. (no fasecious remarks please)
It is a beautiful winter day here, but I can’t see how I can stride forth with a sling on my arm. Although if I am going to have to wear it for a bit, I shall just have to go out with the beastly thing. I do hope it is better for your leave so that it wont impede our love making. At the minute dear, it would be very difficult to embrace you properly. But my lips aren’t broken or even cracked – or even bruised, ‘cause they haven’t been kissed for the last ten days or so.
I have just thought, this will be the last letter I write to you at Goathland. I shall probably write to you at Malton tomorrow. Good luck for your exam on Friday. I’ll be with you in spirit. If its written, I’ll be perched on the end of your pen, and if it’s practical, I’ll be crouched in your respirator. So please don’t be sick in it!
Remember I am kissing you in spirit and loving you in truth.
Yours with all the love that is in me, Kathleen.
P.S. Don’t forget to tell me about the ‘T’s.
P.T.O.
Precious, I have just read your letter, and now of course, I want to go to York very badly. The reason I changed my mind was that I thought you would not really think it a good idea. But as you do, I want to come.
Though now, there is this confounded arm to think of. Dad saw the plates this afternoon, and says it may not be cracked – but the darned plates aren’t dry yet.
Angel I am terribly thrilled about your seven days leave. It sounds too amazingly wonderful Seven Days together. It’s heavenly. Who cares about a car. What’s a car. It’s you I want. Besides I’m sure James would be a fairy godmother on one, maybe two occasions. He doesn’t seem to be short of petrol, and some how it’s different from asking Walker. Or else I’ve changed. I must just grab at every chance of seeing you, every chance of making it easier for us.
I do want to see you on Saturday. My arm should be a lot better by then, and I probably can cast my sling. And if I can’t, I can always wear my cape, and cover it up. Though of course your not so keen on my black hat.
Even if we don’t buy the ring there, I feel now that I must see you. I’ll have to find out which station the train gets in at. (Bad grammar.) Mum may be able to come to Leeds but I’m not sure.
Anyway, all this depends upon whether you can get off on Saturday, and I shall phone you about nine o’clock tomorrow – Thursday – so hang round the phone.
Darling, how wonderful to have you at home for Christmas. I shall see more of you this year than I usually do at Christmas, wont I? And your Father and Mother are going to open the champaigne – and mine will probably give you a glass of lemonade. But never mind, I’m your intoxication (!)
Kiss yourself from me – and I’ll ‘phone tomorrow,
All my love, Kay
P.S. No, don’t buy me a Christmas present. I’d rather have an extra bit on the ring. X
P.P.S. I love you. I LOVE YOU.