Category: 1939 At War

Postmarked COLNE LANCS 7.30pm 14 Sep 39
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, D.W.R., Attatched to R.A.F. Station, Yeadon, Via Leeds

Albert House, Colne, Lancs.

14^th September

My dearest Ronald,

You are a smell for being so vague in your last letter. Moué is looking over my shoulder so I can’t tell you how much I adore you! {Moué in pencil} Kay is a big stink – yes?- you bet this will not go on all the time (my looking over her shoulder!) I think I shall tell her to scram, as she is being rude about my writing, and it isn’t what you might call private! {illustration} This is me!

You ->{illustration} Little boy Blue come blow your horn! So long. I’m off – that’s tea {illustration} So I must go too. {illustration}

After tea. Now dear, perhaps I shall be able to get some peace. As I was saying, your letter was rather vague, but I am still expecting you here on Saturday, and shant be writing tomorrow. I am amazed, and of course, very pleased to hear that you will probably be back in Barlick soon. It hardly seemed worth your while going to Yeadon.

I suppose the tale about Geoff. going to France was rather daft, but that’s what I heard; and I thought as Mac was in the same digs with him that he would know. As for Asborne, well I don’t know anything about that.

Fancy me forgetting to tell you where Males has gone. He’s gone to Middlesex somewhere to be an R.A.F. fitter. He went at very short notice. They had had his name for quite a while, and then they sent for him one night and he was to report the following evening. Marj has not enjoyed her chauffeuring a bit today as Daddy has been somewhat difficult to please, and she said she just went worse and worse. I must say, I wouldn’t like her job – in spite of the fact I’d be paid for it!

I was down at Miss Goth’s this morning to see about having that old green costume camouflaged (I wore it first in early courtship.) I am having it modernized as I shant be able to spend so much on clothes now! Not that I ever spent very much of course. I shall have to wear my same old winter coat, though I am hoping for a new hat! Dear, dear, I must think I am writing to one of my girl friends – gabbing on about clothes!

I have just been asked to go with Granny, John and Daphne on to the moor; but I asked if I might finish my letter first.

Do you love me as much as I love you? Button, you couldn’t. Actually, I am longing to see you to make sure that you still do love me a lot. My whole life depends upon you. You can make me happy or sad. For instance, yesterday after your letter of good tidings, I was so happy I thought I was going to burst.  Today, I am still happy because Saturday is still ahead – although you did say something about going someplace at a moments notice. But I have chosen to more or less ignore it, and prepare for your visit.

I haven’t seen anything of your Ma since you left. Some how I don’t think she likes me just now. Or perhaps she just thinks I’m daft. But I dare say I’m imagining it. In fact I’m sure I am. Skip it – absolutely.

Although this writing is no worse than usual, I am writing with a pen with a nib that is almost crossed. It is a fountain pen, but doesn’t fill.

You haven’t told me anymore about your spy, but I expect you will tell me when you see me. I’m expecting you to tell me a lot when you see me, as you haven’t really been telling me much in your letters. Not one single sentence of three words. Fancy me having to keep you up to scratch! Changed days – what?

The maids have been busy all day cleaning out the “Polish Corridor”, though I haven’t been down to see the result yet. It will be queer sitting down there in an airrade – in amongst the poles and the coke.  Still, I hope there won’t be an airrade – if I can keep it from Hitler that I am here. Actually, honey bunch, when he knows you’re not here he’ll just pass it over.

Don’t forget to give me back my little picture of the Helme back view. Isn’t it the cutest thing? I wish I had a really, really decent photo of you. Not one of the ones I have does you justice. I must see Mr Foulds about that neg. and see if it can be put together and printed because we do look rather sweet on it. You know, I think we make a very nice couple. Adéle thinks so. We just even each other up she says. Mentally and otherwise!

Well my pet boy, I must away to the post and then to the moor.

Goodnight belovéd. I’ll be seeing you – I’m sure. All my love and cuddles, Kathleen

Postmarked COLNE LANCS 7.30pm 13 Sep 1939
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme. D.W.R., Attatched to R.A.F. Station, Yeadon, Via Leeds

Albert House, Colne, Lancs

13^th September

My darling Ronald,

How I love you, and how happy I am now that I know you are coming to see me so soon. Oh honey, I am mad with joy; and I was feeling so flat before your letter arrived at the twelve o’clock post.

I was quite sure I would not be seeing you for a good while yet – and then oh heaven – your letter came, and ever since then I have been dashing round with a grin on my face. You have no idea what a difference it makes to my days knowing that I shall soon be seeing you.

I dreamt about you so much last night, and always you were loving me. And then when I wakened I thought how long it would be before you could love me – but now ___! God must love me still.

I haven’t had Prince out yet today, so I shall have to take him when I have finished writing to you. He is very full of beans, and waiting for a long walk, but I doubt whether it will be so long! I’m not feeling very energetic.

Daddy wants to fatten me up, so in spite of the war, I am going onto malt. I must say I would like to be a bit fatter as I am really too angular. I’m sure you would not want to be married to a clothes prop. Also my bones are apt to creak when in a clinch – yes?

Honey, I love you.

There doesn’t seem to be much news. It seems a queer sort of life these days…

We went to the Hippodrome last night: all of us except Granny and Mummy. We saw “The Shining Hour” which was good, but very far from the original story of the play. Margaret Sullivan is most attractive I think, and made Joan Crawford look very big and heavy faced. I don’t think you have seen it, have you.

It will be lovely to go to the flicks with you again, but then it will be lovely to do anything with you again. You’re a love, aren’t you?

Why do you love me? I can’t understand it yet. It’s too wonderful. Too, too wonderful!

We have just got the record “I get along without you very well.” But I don’t. I just don’t. Actually, I think it is Daphne’s record.

The news seems quite cheering. The French still seem to be advancing, and the Poles to hold their own. We’ll beat ‘em. We’ll beat ‘em! I could do it by myself. Well, with you.

I am too excited to write anymore; and I must air “Dawg Prince” who is very impatient.

Do you love me? Good, I’m so glad because I love you. Oh honey, how I love you. Kiss me. Oh blow, you can’t. In spirit?

If you are thinking I’m crazy you’re right – I’m crazy over you.

Cheeriho. And stay sweet.

All my love, and a thousand kisses, cuddles and caresses, Yours as ever, Kay.

p.s. I’m saving paper!
p.p.s. I love you.
p.p.p.s You didn’t hear? I love you.

Postmarked COLNE LANCS 7.30pm 12 Sep 1939
addressed to Lieut. R. Helme D.W.R., Attatched to R.A.F. Station, Yeadon, via Leeds

Albert House, Colne, Lancs

12^th September

My dearest Ronnie,

Your letter was very welcome. Very newsy too. Fancy you arresting a bloke. I am just wondering if it was the spy or some poor harmless blighter – or is it bliter?

The wireless is on so I shall probably write an even stupider letter than usual. They are playing “Aint Misbehaving” Nice, yes? Now they are playing “You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby.” Well, you certainly were – if that cherry lips photo is really you. I have it up in the bedroom again; and when I waken in the morning I nearly always find myself looking right at it. The sun – if there is any, shines in on it.

But away with sentiment. We’re in the Army now!

Granny is quite peeved that the Harrogate hotels should be taken over by the Air Ministry when she had intended to stay there. She feels that fate is dogging her footsteps – or do I mean bad luck?

“You go to my head”. Oh boy, how I like a bit of dance music. Too bad I’m not going to get to any dances this year. I dreamt the war was over last night. Some hopes!

I was in the post office last night, and spoke to Miss Broown, She has heard from Mac that Geof.Kidson has gone to France, so I suppose it must be true. Asborne(*) Brown is in the Territorials, and is now trying for a commission as there are some going it seems. This is in Scotland. He seems very young, and Rita thinks his is rather silly.

I have just been out for a walk with Prince, who has as usual, decorated himself with Coty de Cowe! Actually, he didn’t do it deliberately this time. He was playing with another big dog, and was pushed into it. Fortunately it was the dry and almost odourless variety; and I have removed it.

We are just waiting for the news to come on now. We are having high tea at about quarter past six. Then go the pips, and here’s the pansy announcer. The British soldiers have received a warm welcome by the French. The French seem to be doing very well. May they continue. Vive La France!

I suppose you have a wireless in the mess. It strikes me you are having quite a nice time. Still, I suppose you will be busy, and that it will be a good long time before you come over.

I am knitting a most beautiful blue baby blanket with very thick wool I have had in the house for a long time. Six of us were sitting knitting last night!

Did you hear Anthony Eden’s speech last night? I thought it was very good indeed.

Well, the news is over, and I really haven’t any news worth bothering about.

Ah me, what a life! Nowt to do but sit and wait.

All my love, yours aye, Kathleen. 

Next page

P.S. You will think me very ungrateful for not thanking you for ‘phoning me. Thank you very much. You are as ever thoughtful, and I do appreciate it. Even though you did seem to be in a hurry to go off. Of course, it’s that old stomach again. You always did think more of your stomach than ____ Oh quit?  So long. K

{picture}

Not a very nice letter, but I do love you.

I LOVE YOU.

Postmark obscured. Addressed to Lieut. R. Helme, D.W.R., attatched to R.A.F. Depot, Yeadon, Leeds

Albert House, Colne, Lancs.

11 September

My Precious Boy,

It is a year since you left Colne, and it will be a thousand years before you come back to see me. I never imagined that love could be so completely devastating or that partings could be such agony. Oh well, I can take it; and I can still sing in the bathroom and in the lavatory.

This photo taken from the papers yesterday, is so adorably like you that I am sending it on to you – just to look at, as it is so cute I am going to keep it. It was Mum who saw it first. Isn’t it just your back view; the shape of the head, the backside even the way he is standing. And it seems he is doing nothing while the others busy themselves! But really, that isn’t you. You are not as lazy as you often pretend to be – Oh never did I see a posterior so like yours!

Today has past slowly and without excitement. I took Prince out for a good walk this afternoon, and kept mainly to the fields. He had a whale of a time; and I think that walks like that every day will soon correct his elbows. It is galloping in the grass he needs. Not that there will be any shows for a while – but he’s young enough yet. There were some heavy showers during the walk, and I arrived home looking far from glamourous with my hairnet sticking out at the back of my head.

The others spent the afternoon cleaning out the garages.  I think you know that Males(*) went on Friday, and that Marjory is now the chauffeur – on Males’ wage – except that she pays her own insurance. Not so bad – but she’s got to dress on it! Too bad that I can’t drive, isn’t it? But I’d want to be very good before I took Daddy out!

I think you had better hire a plane and come over to spend the evening with me as I am feeling somewhat flat. Still, I expect I’ll be O.K. Thank goodness the flicks have reopened. I may go tomorrow.

It is a beautiful evening, and a very suitable one for a trip on Pinnah. Do you remember ye olde days when we used to zoom up in the wee Austin? Oh for those good old days. If only we could pick out the lovely days and live them all over again – one after another.

Today I went for a short snooze after lunch, and I started pretending, and went to sleep in the middle of it. I was resting as I normally do, before a dance, and I was thinking of all the lovely things that would happen. I keep putting on “The Way You Look Tonight” and it brings a lump to my throat; and yet I like it, because when I close my eyes, I can see you looking big and teddybearish in your tails. And there I am in my red frock looking no end of a wow with my short hair. I can hear you humming in my ear, and feel that old feeling – a sort of fuzzy feeling in my head. Can I ever forget those days? No I shall not. I shall remember them to the end of my days, and never cease to marvel at your love for me.  Love at first sight – a gawky schoolgirl. Oh darling, I’m so glad you love me. I don’t know what I’d do without it – although you are forever rubbing it in to me that we don’t get on. I guess I’m just a bit quarrelsome. It’s a dreadful thing. Oh dear, you poor soul having me on your hands.

Well Angel, I hope you are enjoying yourself. Don’t be too merry ‘cause here’s little me all over pathetic and forlorn. Colne just isn’t the same when you’re away. Let this war finish before you have to go any farther away from me – as I feel like a fish out of water without you.

I shall wash my frock with the buttons down the middle just in case you can come over and see me.

Margaret Riddough told Marjory this morning that she had heard Geof. Kidson was going to France. Surely he won’t be going yet? Such silly rumours get about. But I suppose it might be true. He has evidently a marriage licence all ready anyway. What a life!

The last post here is now at half past seven instead of eight – so I shall have to buck my stumps. I hope you will be able to find time to read this. I suppose you have to get up fairly early in the morning where you are? Please write and tell me all about it. I like to have some idea what you are doing – so as I can think of you doing this and that.

Please give my love to yourself – all of it. Kisses, cuddles and caresses, Kay

Postmarked COLNE LANCS 7.15pm 10 Sep 1939
addressed to Lieutenant R. Helme. D.W.R., attatched to R.A.F. Depot, Yeadon, Leeds

Albert House. Colne. Lancs. Tel.No.282

Sunday

My dearest,

Today I am overcome by a great hate of myself for having spoilt yesterday afternoon. I am an ass, a fool, an idiot, an ungrateful wretch, and I don’t know how you can be bothered with me. I suppose you are very disappointed in me – and I do seem to be forever giving you reason to be disappointed in me.

Oh well, the past is past, and once more, I shall make an effort to be as you would have me be – which would be a damn sight nicer than I am.
I am feeling very lonely today, and the weather doesn’t make matters any better. It is pouring. I would go for a wet walk if I hadn’t just washed my hair.

Yesterday after tea, I took Prince for a good walk – between the two resevoirs and over the fields – down into Foulridge, up Red Lane and down threw the fields. There I was all on my own feeling like a wet week! It was a lovely evening, and it was difficult to think there was a war going on, and that my dear Ronald was chasing round the countryside in uniform. But I suppose it will soon be over, and we will be back to the old sweet life. Then we can get married and raise a brood. Well, a small brood! Heaven hasten the day for I’m weary of waiting.

I met the great Miss Ritchie this afternoon. She and Sam were in here to collect John and Daphne – who by the way, are now officially engaged – at last. It only meant changing the ring from one hand to the other. I guess they will be content for a bit now.

Granny must be feeling a little nearer to her ambition: to present Beauty and the Policeman to her first great grandchild! She is probably thinking it all out now. Today she said to me, “And what about you?” (Marj had just told her she was engaged to a housepainter) I said I had been married for six months. She asked me what I was living on, and I said love!

I hope – and suppose you are very comfortable at this new place. I also hope you have a fair amount of work to do, as it will keep you occupied properly, and should prevent you doing anything daft like flying. I have a feeling you are far safer on the ground.

We were at Church this morning, but I didn’t see any representative of your family. It was the Bishop of Blackburn preaching – and he gave us a very good sermon which made me feel a great deal better. I find him very fascinating to watch and listen to.

The Northern Daily Telegraph reporter sat right behind me, and took down the sermon. I could hear his pencil scraping away the whole time, which was slightly putting off.  The Church was more crowded than I have seen it for ages. We, as usual a bit late, had to sit right at the front. We didn’t take our gas masks, but nearly everyone else did.

I hope you’ve got yours back, or that you have one that fits.

Marjory has just gone up to the Town Hall to do four hours telephone duty for them. She has just to sit and listen for the ‘phone, and ‘phone Mr Venables if there is anything important. She will probably be bored stiff, and has set out well armed with mags etc.

I dreamt I was in a bus with your Mother and you, and we seemed to be in Manchester. We seemed to spend most of our time changing seats. I was bitten by a pointer, but didn’t seem very bothered about it. I have used the word seem three times in that short paragraph, which shows I am in a very bad state. My mind is slipping – to Yeadon, I suppose.

The days are very long, and it seems years since this war started – so heaven knows what it will feel like in another few months. Evidently, we are preparing for a three years war. So if we have anything at all to live on, we’ll be married before it finishes. That is to say, if I haven’t crippled you for life with my bad temper or driven you daft with my stupidity. How I hate myself today. The sooner I start doing something the better. But the nursery school won’t start till the schools start – maybe a bit after that, as they don’t seem to have decided upon anything yet.

We have been asked to use up odd wool in knitting blankets for babies – so that is how I am filling in my odd moments (or I should say hours). They may be warm, but they certainly aren’t beautiful – in all different colours and textures of wool.  The children will grow up colour blind, I’m sure.

You seem to be miles and miles and miles away, and I keep having to tell myself you aren’t. I suppose you are in a danger area though, which is not a pleasant thought, but you will be saying if that’s all the danger you are exposed to, I should be thankful. Well I am.

It still rains, and I still hate myself, and I still love you.  Yes, I have a queer way of showing it. I am very queer, it seems. And I think I am about to weep; or perhaps I shall change it to a nose blow! That seems to be the wisest thing to do.

Prince sends his love, and says he is missing you holding his lead, and wishes you to come back and see us as soon as poss. He is very anctious that I should tell you that the judge has written in “Our Dogs” that he is a well grown youngster; but is not so keen on me telling you that he is a little too nervous, but time will be to his advantage. Alas, he has just made a terrible smell.  Let’s hope that time will assist him in growing out of that bad habit. Oh dear, where’s my resperater. (Spelling?)

When I see all these people enjoying themselves together, it makes me mad; but as you say, I must get used to being without. Though you shouldn’t be pleased really if I did.

There goes the gong for a cup of tea downstairs, so I’d better pip.

Please love me – and try to be blind to my horrible faults. I am, however poor a sweetheart I make, in love with you and live to see you again. All my love, your Kathleen