Author: SH

Postmarked YORK 15 NOV 39
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme., A Coy. 1/6^th D.W.R. Church House, Norton, Malton, Yorks

The Yorkshire Institute of Agriculture, Askham Bryan, Nr. York

Tuesday

My dearest Ronald,

Here I am in my small, narrow bed with a vile light – and a wild wind whistling outside the narrow casement! I have just filed my nails, and take all’t mook out, and I feel all nice and clean – with cream on my face and my curlers in.

Gee, what a wind. I hope you are not out in it. It might blow even you away!

Well my dear large love, I am hoping for a letter from you tomorrow – but I have me doubts. I expect you were shooting all day. What a shame you can’t come and shoot at Askham Bryan!

We are to be allowed to go to a concert in Askham on Friday evening, and I’ve a feeling it will be rather an amusing affair. Probably all the local yokels displaying their talents. For all I know though, there may be some famous singer coming.

The supper tonight nearly caused a riot. It was good, but there was hardly any of it.  It was scrambled egg, and each table had a plateful that one person could have eaten comfortably – without exaggeration. The cook was out an’ it was the stupid matron’s effort. You should have seen the staffs’ faces. Great big open airy men with nothing but a wee dot of scrambled egg! We have started having small bottle of milk each for supper – so that filled us up a bit.

I have developed a terrific appetite since I came here, but there never seems to be enough food.

All that about food.

A lot of people have decided to stay on another month’ but not so me. I have plenty of reason for not doing. The most important, I wouldn’t miss your week’s leave for anything in the world. Also, I am not very partial towards this type of life. The work’s o.k. but I do not like women en masse. They are so stupid and nattery. Everyone gets in everyone elses way, and no one gets anywhere. I prefer to be an individual.

I feel to have learnt a lot since I came here, so surely by the 25^th I shall feel quite efficient.

All day long I am thinking about you, and last thing at night. In fact, it takes a great deal of will power to keep me from talking about you all the time. Such is love dear boy. I do want to see you. I am going to see you this Sunday.

Today I have been sweeping the cow house, bedding and feeding bullacks, and messing about with poultry in the afternoon.

Wednesday
Mary came in to talk to me last night, so I didn’t get any more writing down. I have just come in from the cowshed, and am waiting for breakfast now. When we went out at seven the stars were still shining, and it was beautiful but icey cold. I don’t mind getting up at that time, but I wouldn’t like to be up any earlier.

I have lost the mac I was provided with, and if I can’t find it today I shall be frozen with this terrible wind. Poor fools staying on next month. I can just see them working in the wind and rain, and maybe snow! Goy! December and January are the worst months to train in the whole year I should say.

Well beloved, I think I’ll dust my room, so that if I get a letter from you after breakfast I shall be able to read it in peace. I’m afraid this is even scrappier than usual.

… Thanks for your letter. I’m very sorry I won’t be able to come and see you on Sunday. I am not peeved at all, because there is nothing in your letter to peeve me, you brown eyed b-b-beauty. It’s the last weekend, so it doesn’t matter at all really, and as you say, I can go to the Minster; though it would have to be the afternoon service and I believe it’s not as nice. Still, it’s bound to be better than the service at Askham Bryan!

I am glad Donald is going home this weekend and that you are now on a six hour do. It looks as if your getting off is now quite probable. Am I looking forward to it? It is nothing short of wonderful.

I shall now go and clean out the cowshed with gusto. The dung will be as Coty to my nose!

I got my Readers Digest this morning. Also a notice about a Sanction Show at Skipton. I would like to have taken Prince, as he needs experience, but the bally thing is on the twenty fifth. I missed the last one in August. Tom Moorley is judging – so I’d have hopped up the prizes.

I wish you’d lose your way and come on this road today. And yet I don’t because it would only be a fleeting glimpse; and its nearly the twenty fifth. This week is flying, and the next will too.

Angel boy, I shall have to go and put on my over alls.

Give my love to Ronald, my fond love to Ronnie, and my very very best love to yourself, Kathleen.

Postmarked ASKHAM BRYAN 8 13 NOV 39
addressed to Lieut R. Helme., A Coy, 1/6^th D.W.R., Church House, Norton, Malton, Yorks

The Yorkshire Institute of Agriculture., Askham Bryam, Nr. York.

Monday, Nov 13^th

My darling Ronnie,

Two letters on the same morning from the same person, and both written in the same sweet style! Now I am happy for the day; and I hope for a lot longer than that. I am really thrilled that you think you will manage to get off for the 25^th – although I shouldn’t really be too thrilled, for something might go wrong. But now that you’ve got your buddha, all will go well.  Although I don’t think they look nice but I do think they’re lucky. Besides, I found a horse shoe on Friday when I was clearing a filthy muddy path. There it was right under my spade. I’ve brought it inside and put it under my locker. Yes, I think it’s time we had a spell of good luck.

Please try and put Donald off coming with us – but of course, it’s his car.  I don’t mind terribly as long as I get home with you; but it would be rather honeymoonish to go alone with you. I’m sure James would lend us his car. He’s very decent that way, and dash it you are quite used to driving all sorts of cars.

So John is going to get engaged is he. Joan doesn’t know the girl, as she says she knows no girls in Harrogate!

You must pop the question to Pa when we get home, honey. Then we’ll go and get a magnificent ring. Just think what a wonderful ring you could have got with £81! Well you did very well to make what you did. But don’t go spending all you have, now!

If the last few paragraphs have been tosh, pardon me. A girl has been in talking to me, but seeing that I was wanting to get on with my letter, she has departed. She has just told me I am the most reliable girl here. Well, well!  My head swells.

Actually, it’s my heart that swells for you dear boy. Fancy you being so near me for the next day or two. You will be almost within kissing distance!  Angel, can I come over and see you on Sunday? Sunday is better than Sat. because I have the morning off too. Please say I can come – even if it’s only for an hour or two.

A bell has just gone – but I’m sure it’s too early. Still, I’d better go and see. The dairy people are having a milking machine demonstrated this afternoon. I milked eight lbs this morning which is two lbs off a gallon. Unfortunately I had to stop to let some one else try, but I really think I could milk a cow dry now.

That bell was not for us, but for the tractor people, so I’ll stay a bit longer.

I’m doing early milking again this week, but I am not sorry, for although it means getting up at half past six, we do finish at tea time. Whereas last week, we had to go back and milk after tea, and we usually got back just in time for the evening lecture at six. We have lectures nearly every night, and they are very interesting, although I’m usually empty and tired by that time.

There must be something funny about the air here, because I can’t get my hair to stay up at all. It flops down my neck, and looks like rat’s tails inspite of the fact that I wear a hairnet all day.  Others are finding the same difficulty, but I can’t see why it should be so.

‘George Formby’ is married, and his wife came for him on Saturday. He’s only been married since Sept. so I suppose he’s sick at being parted. He tells me he is trying to get a house in ____thorpe, a village near here, but at present they live in Tadcaster – so George sleeps in all week, and goes home at weekends. He looked fed up to be back today, though he is a cheery soul.

One of the most annoying girls who talks about her month on a farm all the time, has managed to net one of the instructors – just a wee childish looking lad. I should think he’s been bullied into it. They were out together on Saturday and Sunday.

Some of us went to the road house again last night – for coffee in my case, and it was a terribly dark night. I wonder we arrived home safely, as my torch was just about defunct.

Joan’s Richard never arrived after all, and she straight way phoned another boy! What a girl!

Well love, everything seems ominously silent. I had better go and dad myself in my overalls. See you – I mean write you later. X

Later.
I have just returned from the demonstration which was very interesting; but George Formby asked me to second the note of thanks, which put me off somewhat. Still I managed o.k. and even made a remark which made them laugh – so I guess I’ll do!

I hope this letter isn’t too long, ‘cause I know you are very busy. I’ll just have to finish this page now, as I can’t afford to waste paper.

I hurt my thumb putting bale through the machine this morning. I stabbed down the nail and it is beginning to feel sore when I write.

Please write soon and tell me I can come on Sunday – or that you can come. I must see you.

Honey, get your leave, I am longing for it – simply aching for it.

I’ll write again very soon.

All my love, Kathleen

P.S. I hope the telegram wasn’t too much for a shock. I just had to do something, and I couldn’t phone.

Postmarked YORK 10-AM 13 NOV 1939
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, A Coy, 1/6 D.W.R., Church House, Norton, Malton, Yorks

The Yorkshire Institute of Agriculture, Askham Bryan, Nr. York

Sunday.

My dearest Ronald,

Your letter of yesterday was very sweet, and cheered me no end. I’m so glad you are missing me because I am hopelessly lost without you; and I just know I’ll never be really happy till I have you all to myself.  Oh for the funny old couch in the Club – just the two of us.

I have just returned from the Church at Askham Bryan. Four of us went. It is a quaint fascinating little church; but the minister was completely hopeless. His sermon was anyway. I could have preached a better one myself – honestly (with an ‘h’) He just kept erring and eming – and there was no point about anything he said. Senile decay I suppose; but I can’t think that he was ever a good preacher.

We spoke to his wife after, and she seems a good deal younger than he is. She was asking us if we liked being here, and told us she was in the Land Army during the last war.

I certainly don’t fancy being bunked off on any old farm miles from anywhere. In fact, I simply wont do it. I want to be on a dairy far or a poultry farm as near home as poss. I refuse to dig and lift and mess myself up, as I consider myself more useful as a woman than as a working apparatus. Bisides, I am still thinking of Donald and Michael.

I am feeling very mouldy today, and longing for a sight of you. To think that last Sunday I was with you – or waiting for you, anyway.

Do you know, I am going to come to Malton for lunch next Sunday – or maybe Saturday. I’m going to the Talbot, and if you are not there, I shall just have it by myself. But I am coming anyway. So you can write with speed and tell me which is the better day for you. But I warn you, I shall come. I refuse to be within an hour’s bus ride from you – and stick here rusting into a mouldy maturity.

Elizabeth Marshall sent me a p.c. yesterday to say she couldn’t meet me yesterday, as she was on some special job, and only had an hour off. So my weekend was completely smashed, and I stayed and did my dairy duty. I also did the other half of my Sunday duty this morning before breakfast – so that leaves me all next weekend free. Then the Saturday after that I’m going home, and with a great deal of luck, you will take me. But I suppose that’s too good to be true.

My pen is running out – so I’ll pop next door for some ink.

Now where was I? Oh yes, I love you – and I realize it more and more as the days go on. Wooly Pully (your gansey) is behaving very well, and has the amazing habit of putting his arm round my waist – just as if you were inside him. This is quite true. Often I waken up to find an arm entwined about me, and it always makes me smile.

We are having a concert here some time near the end of the month, but I am not taking part in it, being of a shy and retiring nature – and having no great talent for such things. Those who possessed (or I should say thought they possessed) any talent were to tell the committee. Of course, the dear panto star is to dance, and her vile, sickening, painful friend, who has neither brain, talent, beauty, charm, or even common decency – and whom no one can stand, appart from Panto – has had the brass neck to say she can sing! And you should hear her! A completely hideous noise – and she honestly thinks she has a good voice, and sings in cowshed, dairy and bathroom. Boy, what a din. May we be preserved from such a catastrophe!

A few of us went to the road house near here last night after supper, just for a change of air. It is a lovely place. Well, it’s very nice, anyway. It’s called Buckler’s Inn and is new. We had coffee.  We are going again tonight – chiefly because we want to see Joan Wenyan’s(*) boyfriend who is a pilot in the R.A.F. and is stationed at Dishforth just now.

Today is going to seem very long. I only hope next week – rather, this week, doesn’t drag.

I am going to see you next weekend, and no one can stop me – unless you’ve moved from Malton, and you wont have done.  Because I just know I’m going to see you – even if it’s for half an hour.

All my love, and kisses, cuddles, and caresses, Yours, Kay

Postmarked YORK 5-PM 10 NOV 1939
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, A Cy 1/6 D.W.R., Church House, Norton, Malton, Yorks

The Yorkshire Farm Institute, Askham Bryan, Nr. York, Nov.

7^th Tuesday

My dearest Ronnie,

A few lines before I turn off my light to go to by bies. I dreamed about you last night, by the way, and it was a very sweet dream which started with a quarrel and ended with a reconciliation – as our quarrels always do, yes?

It was completely heavenly seeing you on Sunday.  I was thrilled more than I can say, and it has made all the difference in the world to me. It’s wonderful to think that you are so near me, and that I shall, D.V. see you again on Sunday. I am counting the days: Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday _______. How I love you. How I love you. How I love you. Did you hear me?

I have been working very hard today, and am ready for a good sleep. This morning I spent with the poultry. I was weighing cocks among other things. This afternoon we’ve been threshing corn, and the dust of it got in my eyes, in my nose and in my hair. After tea I milked the cows – or more literally, half a cow! I have greatly improved though, and am now managing to squeeze quite a stream out. It must have been after practising so hard on the artificial udders yesterday. It fairly makes the rists ache.

I had a letter from Matron yesterday. Very nice. I wrote back at once like a good girl. I also had a letter from Mummy too, and she was thinking of writing to you. I’ve written to tell her where you are. She will be very pleased as she was hoping I would be able to see you while I was here.

Gosh, how I love you; and the thought that you love me is completely wonderful.

I’m just going to get your pullover out o the wardrobe to cuddle like a Teddy bear all night, and so to bed. I may add some more tomorrow.

All my love, Kathleen

Friday.
Sorry the beginning of this letter is now so out of date, but I have been waiting patiently – almost – for a letter from you. And now that its come it’s not very bright. I shall do my dairy duty on Sunday now, and I’ll be seeing Elizabeth on Saturday – unless she has to put it off at the last minute, which is quite possible; in which case I shall stay in all weekend.

Tell Mother the instructress had just snaffled my fork to give us a demonstration. I look rather vile in the photo anyway.  I like the work here very much now, and have even taken to the poultry. I milked two and a half pints yesterday, which, although it sounds little, is a good effort for a beginner.

But I still want to go home, and I wish it was the 25^th. – even though I don’t expect you’ll get it off.

I think Dr Barr is vile beyond works, and you have no business to listen to him. He is a poor doctor himself, and is not entitled to tell tales out of school. And it’s even worse if he knows about you and me.  Daddy’s a damned sight better than he is, and if I ever meet him I’ll be hateful to him. Then he’ll be able to tell people “in confidence”, that Dr Eadie’s daughter is as bad as he is!

Just because he can’t keep his patients – the poor fish! I should think he’s joined the Army in self defence.

I suppose it’s nearly time for me to go over to my dear hens. I am in the trap nest part, and I’ve to lift the birds that have laid out of the nests, take the number of their wing taks, and record the lay on paper. I’ve also to clean the dirt off the perches, and resand them. Oh I’d make a good farm hand if I were just a bit stronger and toughter. Maybe it’ll come.

I suppose I’ll see you in December if I don’t see you before. Write when you have time. Much love, Kay.

Postmarked YORK 5.15pm illegible NOV 1939
addressed to 1/6^th Bn, The D.W.R., The Officers Mess, Jaffa Lines, Catterick Camp. Yorks

My darling Ronald,

Your letter was very welcome this morning, and I love you so much that to think of you living away makes me ache. I haven’t time for more than a scrawl, and I don’t expect you’ve time to read more.

I’m worried about you dear boy, and I do hope that nothing happens before I see you again.

I am very busy, but the work is interesting and makes time go quicker. I was up at halfpast six again today – in the cow shed at seven.

I shall be going into York on Saturday.

How I wish I could see you. Will it to be soon. I do hope you’re missing me a bit too.

All my love, yours, Kay

I’m longing for your photo.

Postmarked YORK 6.15pm 4 NOV 1939
addressed to 1/6^th Bn. The D.W.R., The Officers’ Mess, Jaffa Lines, Catterick Camp. Yorks

The Yorkshire Farm Institute of Agriculture.

My dearest Ronald,

I was very pleased to receive a letter from you yesterday, and I have a definite feeling that you are not going to have to move from Catterick.

I forgot it was weekend, or I should certainly have found time to scrawl a short note to you yesterday. Now you wont get this till Monday, but I shall post it in York this afternoon, so as you will be sure to get it at the first post.

I asked the exact date of going home, and thrill of thrills – it is Saturday 24^th – that’s 24. That’s three weeks today. So can you D.V. arrange to have your leave then. I am simply longing to see you honey.

I’m afraid my last few letters have been a little overpowering, and I’m overcoming it a bit. I have had to keep so well controlled here that I simply had to burst forth to you. Hope you haven’t minded, but I do love you.

The first week of work is over now. We have just come in from the cow shed, and are waiting for the dinner. This afternoon I am going with two other girls to York – just to look round and have tea. We may go to a flick.

Tomorrow I have volunteered for dairy duty. We have to do a Saturday and a Sunday out of the month. I’ve split mine up. This Sunday and probably the third Saturday. I’d like to go to a service in the Minster are Sunday. Next perhaps. York reminds me of you now. But then, most things do.

Elizabeth Marshall cycled over from York to see me as Mum had written to say I was here. We will probably be meeting each other next Saturday – so I’m looking forward to the change of company.

There is a very nice wee girl of seventeen here – from Huddersfield, and she knows quite a number of people who were at Penrhos.

Did I tell you that the girl who went to the Middelton dance with Colin Marshall was here. She remembers me dancing all evening with the Same boy.  “And what a boy” says I to myself, “I’d dance all my life with him.”

We are working very hard, but I am wearing quite well. I am very fond of the cows, and manage to squeeze a little milk out now – although we haven’t yet started milking proper.

There goes the dinner bell.

…. Not a bad lunch, but it could have been better. The food here is just so, and with butter being rationed, we get very little each.

I have just changed, and shall be popping off for a bus err long. I can’t get my nails clean. The dirt is well imbedded.

We were paid yesterday and I got 17/11 which included my travelling expenses. Even those who came by car were paid. I feel quite wealthy; and all I have to buy is some soap, blotting paper and some tea. We’re to be in at ten o’clock which isn’t too bad.

Curse; it is wet, and I haven’t any thick shoes to wear.

Well dear, I wish you were here, but the thought of seeing you three weeks today cheers my soul.

So it’s the 24^th, not the 29^th.

How I love you,

Yours ever, Kay

P.S. I’ve been wearing your KME brooch, and it has been greatly admired.

Postmarked YORK 5.15pm 1 Nov 1939
addressed to Lieut R. Helme, 1/6^th Bn, The D.W.R., The Officers Mess, Jaffa Lines, Catterick Camp. Yorks

The Yorkshire Institute of Agriculture, Askham Bryan, Nr York.

31^st October.

My dearest,

Here I am in my wee bed feeling very much in love with you, and longing to see you, and to kiss your dear mouth. May it be soon, for life without you means nothing at all.

I am settling down a little here, and suppose I will feel better in a day or two. The time will surely fly, for it always does when there’s work to be done. And I am willing it away with all my power. I’m hoping we’ll be going home on the 29^th. I shall certainly try to be away then anyway. Could you possibly get leave then? – or is it terribly selfish of me. I would so much love to have that to look forward to.

This is going to be the best time to write to you between about nine and ten. We have our lights out at 10.15, but I must say I feel ready for it.

We haven’t done much today except get our outfits, and go round the farm with a Mr Robertson who is the superintendant of it – nearly all the instructors here seem to be Scottish: the tractor instructor, the Proffessor, and another fellow who teaches husbandry and looks just like George Formby. He, I think teaches milking.

I’ve to be up and at the dairy for seven o’clock tomorrow for first lesson in the job. For this week and next our group is to be up at that time. Then the third week for eight, and the forth and last week not until breakfast at half past eight. So it get’s better as time goes and may time go on, with speed.

The girls here are very mixed, and some of them very queer. We have an ex panto dancer – a brainless but pretty creature – a couple of girls from a gown shop, a waitress, and laundress, and a number of ladies of leisure (me included). Really some of the girls are terrible creatures – as common as stick. Most of them, laundresses and ladies alike, smoke like chimneys.

There is one very nice girl with whom I have become friendly – although she is twenty six. Her boyfriend is a Captain in the York Hussars. She is very decent, and like me, doesn’t like leaving home a bit. She lives in Malton.

I have your photo beside me on the bed, and although it is a poor one really, it’s you, and I long to squeeze your dear fat self. What is love that it makes me so ravenous for you? I’ve had no appetite since I came here, and yet I’m so hungry for you.

Darling, stop this war. I shall cry tonight as I did last night, because I am so lonely. These other people seem to find it so easy to settle down, but I can’t.

Please tell me you can come at the end of the month to take me home. It will give me something lovely to look forward to.

I was disappointed not to hear from you today but I suppose you are very busy, and as long as you are loving me – that’s all that really matters. Perhaps I’ll hear from you tomorrow. If ever any woman loved a man, I love you, Ronald Helme.

Couldn’t you blackmail me, dear? But there will never be any need to, ‘cause I am yours for keeps.

We’re going to get engaged soon aren’t we? Even if its only a Woolworths ring.

Oh dear, I can think of nothing but you, and it will be so long to wait. But I will wait, and I will keep my chin up. Comment: “Your Chin’s Always Up!”

Goodnight sweetheart. I hope I’ll have time to add more tomorrow. Now I am going to pray for you.

Wednesday
My darling Ronnie,

I received your letter from home today, and it has worried more than I can say. Oh dear, how I wish I could be with you now. Do you really think they will land troops in Britain. It is so grim. Surely it can’t happen. I’m so worried I can’t think of anything else. Please try and keep in touch with me although you are busy.

I wish I had never come here, but I’ve just got to stick a month of it now. I’ve never felt so terrible. You mean more than all the world to me, and nothing must happen to you.

Oh precious, why had this got to be. I want your arms more than anything else on earth.

God keep you.

All my love, Kathleen.

Postmarked YORK 5.15pm 31 OCT 1939
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, 1/6^th Bn. The D.W.R., The Officers Mess, Jaffa Lines, Catterick Camp. Yorks

The Yorkshire Institute of Agriculture, Askham Bryan, Nr. York

My darling Ronnie,

Well I am here, but only just. The place is so new that it smells of paint and beeswax. In fact the workmen are still here.

The girls seem ok but I have not seen anything approaching beauty yet. There really are some really plain looking guys. A lot of them seem to know each other – so I am very much on my own.

We all sleep in separate little bedrooms – a window, a bed, a wardrobe, and central heating. I’m glad I’m on the side which faces the road and the fields, and not on the side which faces the other side of the building.

It is now six, and I’ve an hour to wait for supper. Mummy and James left about five. We went into York Minster for a little this afternoon, and just looked at the D.W.R. chapel but didn’t go right up to it, as there was a service in that part of the Cathedral… We had tea at Guy’s.

I have a bit of a sore throat, but I’m hoping it’s nothing but excitement or something. I wish you were here to hold my hand. Oh how I wish it. In fact I wish I wasn’t here at all, but in the Club, sitting on the twirly sofa with you. And wishing will make it so, for next month, I shall be sitting on the Club sofa with you.

Would you dream of coming to see me when you get leave. It’s forty miles from Catterick. I don’t know how I am for time off. I get off at the weekends, but I don’t know exactly what that means. Surely I’ll have to work some of Saturday, anyway.

This place is really very near York – on the home side of it. Mum says I’ve to arrange to meet Elizabeth Marshall who is in York with the W.A.T.S.

I came wearing my pearls but as we were advised here not to have anything valuable, I sent them back with Mum. I’m not taking any risks with them.

Thank you for your t’s which I have with me.

We get up at seven here, and breakfast isn’t till half past eight – so it looks as if I’m going to have to put a bit of work in before I feed! I don’t know when we stop working, but we are to have more details after supper.

The principal, a Mr – now dash, I’ve forgotten his name. Anyway, he seems very nice.

Pardon terrible scrawl. I’m writing on my knee as there is nothing else to write on. It doesn’t look as if there’s going to be either. I shall have to use the windowsill in daytime.

What wouldn’t I do to be at the Odeon or the Majestic with you. But even if I were at home you wouldn’t be, so I may as well make the best of it. I don’t think I’ll mind the work here at all, because when you working time goes quickly. But it’s the ucbeation(*) I wont like! But I have you to write to, you to think of, and you to live for; and after all, nothing else matters.

Everyone seems very gay here – whistling and singing on the corridor – so I must attempt to make myself likewise.

My case has still got the Kilconquhar label on which is too bad. There it is in front of me – taunting me. Maybe we’ll get back someday soon, and walk over the common again without quarrelling though.

When I’m away from you, I always think of all the time I’ve waisted in quarrelling.

A month! It seems an eternity – though heaven knows it’s short enough at ordinary times.

I think I’ll go to the lav. just for a change of air.

Tuesday.
I wish it was the last Tuesday here instead of the first. I am feeling very love sick and home sick, and I am calling myself all sorts of a fool for coming here. To think I did it voluntarily!

I have just finished dusting my room. This has to be done every morning. And the floor has to be swept! What a life. You will be saying “I told you so! And that’s right enough. Still, it’s only for a month, and that’s a very wee time really.

I don’t look as if I’m going to get much time off.

This is written in bits, and I’m afraid I shall have to close now, as the post goes from here at four. Oh darling, I am so lonely, and want this to be over quickly.

Please go on thinking of me and loving me. I do love you so much. Could you get your leave right at the end of Nov. and come and take me home. I need you so.

All my love, Kathleen.

Postmarked COLNE LANCS 7.15pm 29 OCT 1939
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, A.Coy. 1^st 6^th D.W.R. Jaffa Lines, Catterick Camp. Yorks

My address is:- The Yorkshire Farm Institutes of Agriculture, Askham Bryan, Nr. York
I forgot to enclose it in the letter. K

Postmarked YORK time/day illegible OCT 1939
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, 1/6^th Bn The D.W.R., The Officers Mess, Jaffa Lines, Catterick Camp. Yorks

I have arrived, and feel no end fed up. The place is just new and the workmen are still around. We’ve just been into York. Now James and Mum are going home. What a life! How I’d love you to come and see me sometimes. I’ve brought this upon myself! I’ll write as soon as poss. Kay.