Postmarked COLNE LANCS 8PM 6 FEB 1940
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, D.W.R., Kings Head Hotel, Barnard Castle, Durham
Albert House, Colne.
Tuesday
My darling Ronald,
There is really no news since yesterday, and as I have not heard from you yet, there is very little to say. I am still hoping for a letter by this afternoon’s post. I suppose there has been some delay.
I don’t even know whether you have arrived safely in Barnard Castle yet, and when you receive this you will be half way through the course. Well, well, what a life.
I went over to see Mr Rankin last night after supper, and stayed till about quarter past nine. He says there is pretty well no chance of a Land Army job in this district. Anyway, not the right type for me – so that’s that. That means I won’t have to wear my badge any more, and I do like badges.
I have made an attempt to write this morning but nothing has happened. I have only got the length of sending off one weak story under a different name as it is so vile? And two poems, in the hopes of earning a bob or two!
I phoned your Mother again today but she has gone to Manchester. I spoke to your Father and gave him your address. He wanted to know if you had arrived at Barnard Castle safely, and of course I couldn’t inform him.
Did I tell you in yesterdays letter that Marj Moué and I are going to Alexanders for supper tonight. It was a surprize when Mrs ‘phoned yesterday. Had we not been asked there I suppose we would have to have gone to the soiree whatever it calls itself. Can’t say I am sorry; through I hope a lot turn up for Mum’s sake.
This is a very cut and dried and unromantic letter, isn’t it? Yes you have been thinking that I know. Well truth to tell, I am feeling very weary and useless and depressed, and I don’t seem to be able to snap out of it. It is a dull, damp and mouldy day, and I am in a dull, damp and mouldy mood. I think I shall sleep this afternoon through sheer fed upness.
If there isn’t a letter from you this afternoon, I shall become really morose. It would be just like the thing for you to phone tonight after I have departed for Alexander’s.
My feet are cold. I think there must be, yes I’m sure there is a draft coming through the bottom of this window. I am sitting in the study. Have I said that before? The electric fire’s on, but gosh, my feet – !! I have now decided to sit on them. That’s better.
We heard from George’s mother this morning. Poor old Walker left for France on Saturday. He is with a field ambulance “somewhere in France” now! He was at home for four days at Christmas. His Ma is such a bright intelligent person – I can’t think why he is so dull. I think he must have fallen out of his pram or had a bad knock on the head. I’ve had a good few myself of course. (“you’re telling me!”)
It is now twenty to two. Last week at this time you were here, and it will be long enough before I see you again. The days go by somehow, but I am forever wondering how they do when you are away. Everything seems so flat. It was so difficult when I knew you were at the office, or at home. Even if you weren’t with me, I knew where you were, I knew where to get you. And I had always Saturday’s to look forward to, and other little outings. Oh well we can’t bring back the past, nor can we even hurry on the future.
Darling, I am sorry to be so miserable. It’s just one of those moods that lonely people with not much to do get into now and again. Why should I be lonely with my family round me? Because you are not here, and whenever you’re not here I am lonely. I’d be lonely in a whole room of school friends because you weren’t there.
Still, I did have hysterics in bed last night. I suddenly found I could speak like Mrs Biggs, and I wouldn’t be quiet. I kept calling for Edgry and Howard, and somehow, things got very amusing and Moué and I went into fits of mirth. There is nothing like a good laugh.
Ten to two. What an hour to be thinking of lunch.
Well dearest, I’ll close for now, and if a letter comes by the afternoon post I’ll add some more. For instance, if you ask me if I love you I’ll tell you I do – painfully.
Kisses, cuddles and caresses,
Kay
6.0
Beloved I have cheered up immensely because I have had a letter from you, and it is a nice letter too. IT was written on Sunday. I don’t know whether you’ve written one since or not.
I feared the journey up might be rather vile, but I am very glad you arrived safely my lamb. A funny idea you sleeping at one hotel and eating at another!
I am interested to hear about Lawlor. Surely you can’t be going to India? Amazing about his batman. There are a lot of bad eggs aren’t there?
I hope you manage to get hoe this month though I don’t care about the dance. You sometimes have a very short memory my treasure. You wore you blue things for the first week or two of the war. Don’t you remember – your khaki pants hadn’t arrived. Of course I’ve seen you in your blue and I think you look very cute in it. Silly of you not to think of wearing it to the Rotary. Still -. But I wont build up about it. In fact, I think I’ll just say you are coming home in March and leave it at that; and then if you do come in February too it will be a pleasant surprise.
I took Prince for a walk this afternoon, and it is still very snowy underfoot. I managed to go up the fields and down the park, and I felt as if I had been a five mile walk. It is so much more tiring walking on lumps of snow. Unfortunately Prince doesn’t seem to have been affected the same way, and is still full of beans.
So Captain Banks doesn’t think winter pups are ever much good. I think he’s right. After the war we’ll mate Prince to a very good bitch, and instead of a stud fee we’ll have first choice of the litter. We’ll see to it being a Summer – or Spring litter, and we’ll have a beautiful dog. Prince certainly has the blood, and he is really not by any means a poor pointer according to Mr Rankin and Tom Mosleys’s men. I would like Tom Mosley to see him actually. Anyway, it’s not much good talking about breeding and showing while this war’s on. Of course I mean dogs!
Fancy me being such a forcel (*) as to address your letter to The Kings Hotel instead of Kings Arms. I am a clown, and gave your Pa the wrong address today. Still, I expect your Mother will receive a letter from you today. I hope the letter has got you. There surely wont be many hotels there?
I haven’t been able to follow my usual custom of looking up the place you’re at in the AA book, because Bill and Marj left it in Willie’s car – the clowns. I always like to know a bit about the places you go to. You certainly have been traveling lately!
Dearest boy, I should really go and mend a split seam in my black frock now. I have either to mend that one or my blue one to go to the Alex’s in. They are both suffering from split seams, so it sounds as if I am growing fatter.
I have also to tidy my nails a bit. At present I look as if I’m in mourning for the cat. Kiss me in spirit, and go on loving me ever so ever so much – as I do you. Yours always, darling, Kathleen