Category: 1939 At War

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.

Addressed to Ronald

Albert House, Colne.

29^th October.

My darling Ronnie,

Here am I lonely and unloved. Well, lonely anyway – and very much in need of a little cuddling and petting from you!

The great Riddough has arrived here, but I can’t be bothered going up to see him. I just don’t feel like it. So I’m in the drawing room all on my own. I like to be alone when I write to you because I can concentrate.

I haven’t packed a thing yet – though I suppose I have plenty of time. I wont be going till tomorrow afternoon as James has kindly said he would take us. Us being Mum and me. Now that the time has come, I’m not looking forward to it a bit. I guess I’ve had my own way too long now. I don’t think I’ll like returning to discipline a bit – even if it isn’t such strict discipline.

Anyway, 1 month isn’t long, and I think it will do me good. I wish it was nearer you, though.

To put the tin lid on things, I have had a pain during the night and all morning, which has made me feel very unsuited for hard work. However strong the will, the body has to go and spoil it. But I am definitely having injections when I come home.

I am missing you so much that I can hardly stand the thought of the ages I shall probably have to go on being without you. I can’t feel that it’s going to be a short war now, can you?

I am enclosing my photo (if I can find an envelope big enough for it) It looks a bit small perhaps – but I thought it would be a better size for you just now than a great big thing. Not very wonderful I’m afraid, but it’s me anyway. Please try and have yours taken soon.

How is your eye? I hope the inflammation has gone. I couldn’t do with your nice brown eyes being spoilt. Nor anything about your nice big body. So see and take care of yourself.

Mum, Moué, John Daphne and I went to the Queens last night to see “Brother Rat” Wayne Morris, and I can’t remember any other names. It was one of those Military Academy flicks, and was very funny in bits… There were a lot of soldiers in the picture house – privates of course! Nothing in your like Mr Helme. Or in mine.

I have been told this is the correct way to write on four sided paper – so I hope you can follow it. {front, back, middle left, middle right}

I forgot to tell you in my Friday letter how upset Granny was that you didn’t go to say goodbye to her. Oh dear, she was deeply grieved, and had been waiting for you. Why the old girl didn’t come down, I don’t know, because she was fully dressed. I said you were here such a short time that even I had hardly time to see you; and I soothed her down a little. She has predicted three marriages from this house soon – according to Mother. She says one is to be a double wedding. That, I believe means John’s and ours. That’s where the old bird’s wrong. I wouldn’t have a double wedding for anything. She actually went to the length of arranging the guests – or something completely wet. Sometimes I thinks she’s a little off it!

I’d just hate to have her at our wedding, wouldn’t you? But it looks as if she is going to go on and on and on!

Well darling, I’m afraid I’m just blethering, but you once said you didn’t mind that.

“Oh to be in Catterick now that Ronald’s there, for whoever wakes in Catterick sees the answer to my prayer.”

What is the answer? Ronald Helme, who looks so sweet and cuddlesome when he’s asleep in bed. I can still see you that morning at Kilconquhar as if it was yesterday – or better still today. Wouldn’t it be nice if it was today? But there are other days – far nicer than that, ahead.

…… Interruption. I have been to see Stanley. He has gone now. He is just brimming over with pride – in his great coat, which isn’t half as nice as yours. It is funny how when you were here he wasn’t half so puffed up as he is when it’s just us. He swaggered through the kitchen and into the yard. Then saluted so hard that it made him go red in the face – literally!

Well, I can’t expect anyone else to be as dear and nice as you – even though I suppose I do hen peck you a bit. I really will try to stop it because I don’t like hen peckers – and I do want to make you happy.

I am nearly crying because I want you so much. I’m hoping hard you’ll ‘phone tonight, but perhaps its very awkward for you at Catterick. Well Surely I hear from you tomorrow. All my love dearest, Kay

Postmarked COLNE LANCS 7.30pm 27 OCT 1939
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, A Coy, 1^st 6^th D.W.R., Jaffa Lines, Catterick Camp. Yorks.

Albert House, Colne, Lancs.

28^th October.

My darling Ronnie,

Already it feels like a million years. And I must have said that before, because every time you go away it gets worse and worse. I can only pray and pray for the day when you will never go away from me again.

I hope you had a nice journey, and that the weather cleared for you. It cleared up here until this afternoon when John Daphne and I were on Pinnah. Then it simply poured. In fact it snowed for about ten minutes.

I had two fillings done this morning: one back tooth and the other a canine tooth – up behind though. You see you must be supplied with details. They weren’t so bad, and old Pa Ross was in a good mood, and chatted amiably about the Land Army etc.

Oh dear, I feel now that I don’t want to go a bit. Everything seems to have gone flat now you’ve gone. But I suppose I will enjoy it once I get going. My real fear is that you will be sent off to France soon – while I am there. Do say there is no fear of that.

I am definitely going to Askham Bryan evidentally which doesn’t seem to be any nearer to you than here. I’ll have to count it up properly tonight. Catterick and York never seem to be on the same map even though they’re in the same county! Matron said to Marjory that she did hope I’d be near Ronnie. I’m sure she knows I love you. In fact, I know a lot of people do. We’re going to get engaged soon, aren’t we? What did you reply to Margaret Manning?

I have nearly finished knitting you one mitten. I shall finish it tonight, and seeing I only started yesterday evening I haven’t done so badly.

Oh darling, I do love you, and there’s such an empty feeling inside me when you’re away. I don’t seem to be properly alive. Everywhere I go seems to have some connection with you. Everything I see, music – everything.

It is silly to be quite so pathetic when you are really not so far away. I suppose it’s the feeling of you getting farther away each time that bothers me. I shall be living to see you again. 

Remember me to Geoff. And continue to mother him. See he has his hair cut, his nails trimmed etc. I suppose he will decide finally when he sees my writing, that I sent those letters. I’m afraid I can’t disguise my scrawl. But I never expected to deceive you. I just can’t, can I honey?!

I hope I can write to you as often as I like while you are at Catterick because it does help a lot to write to you and hear from you. I know you are writing me a nice letter tonight – and sending me your T’s. I’ll keep them for you until you return to the Territorials as Major Helme V.C. Then we’ll get married and live happily ever after, with Donald and Michael, and the other wee thing.

All my love dearest boy – and I’m thinking of you all the time. Yours ever, Kathleen.