Thursday 13 September 1945, Marks Hall

1939-45 Star; Africa Star; Italy Star; France and Germany Star; War Medal 1939-45

 Sweetheart,
                 A less trusting husband might well be suspicious at your belated warning of the possibility of red hair in our offspring! Wasn't there a fortune-teller many years ago who foretold romance for you with a reddish fair man? However, since I'm quite sure there was no blond gentleman in the vicinity during my disembarkation leave, I can accept your explanation in the spirit in which it was offered, and merely express my hope that the genes responsible for great-grandpa Crane's* red whiskers have now lost their potency.

                 Having the divan in your bedroom for me is an excellent idea although if, as Kate thinks, you are punctual in delivering the goods, you'll probably be in the nursing-home as soon as I arrive. What is the position? I'll probably stay on at 155 when you leave - that is if they'll have me.

Africa Star with North Africa 1942-42 clasp

                 I told you about ribbons in my last letter. I've got the '39-45, Africa Star and Italian ribbon but I can't lay my hands on the France and Germany ribbon. I believe it has all been sent over to the B.L.A. If I had known Cliff was coming over, I might have asked him to get me a piece. I don't, of course, qualify for the defence medal. As I tell my friends (who are all wearing it), I was never long enough in a non-operational area to win such a sedentary award.

               As you suggest, the possibility of attending a christening during my December leave never entered my innocent head. I suppose the family will be all in favour of a church ceremony. If so, I'm willing to participate. After all, as at a wedding, the man takes a very small and apologetic part and at some future time, the front pew will be occupied by a test-tube or hypodermic syringe.

             The idea of being 'welcomed home' by Broomhill Church is enough to make one volunteer for further service and I certainly will not attend any celebration for discharged heroes. And talking of further service, quite a surprising number of men are asking for postponement of release at the very last minute. The are all of course people with no jobs to go to, and the prospect of being thrown into a chaotic labour market frightens them.

              I had a letter from Griffiths yesterday. He is rather disgruntled at his environment and finds his former cronies, with their petty worried, narrow outlook and complete lack of interest in the past or future, extremely boring. He hopes to feel better once he starts working.

             It is true enough I think that Service people, who have seen some of the devastation in Europe, take a wider view of the present situation than some civilians for whom the war really ceased when bombs stopped dropping round their ears.

            Dearest, I'm delighted to hear that you are still feeling so astonishingly well and I'm sure it is a good omen both for your future and the child's. It won't be long now till I see you and I'm counting the days.
...

* The Crane family were cousins of MRF.               

Sunday 18 March 1945, Marks Hall

My dear,
            Your letter and the registered envelope arrived together on Friday. I'll send my certificate book away as soon as I can, but I find I'll need to wait until the camp post office can get a large registered envelope for me. They keep only the smaller sizes in stock.

            Your letter was a much more natural one for a woman in your state. Don't be afraid of boring me with clinical details; you see I am reasonably interested in what is going on. I am pleased to see that you have got down to the theory of your subject as set out in the Encyclopedia. I thought the habit of reading about everything would ultimately prove too strong for you. I must have a subconscious desire for knowledge on the subject myself, for on Friday night I dreamt I was in a bookshop buying an enormous yellow-jacketed book with the ridiculous title "Motherhood for the Million".

           What is all this nonsense about washing curtains? Why in the name of Heaven don't you use the laundry? And why not leave the big curtains alone till I get home? Poor Irene will curse us thoroughly, I'm sure. And don't you dare to lug these heavy steps of ours about the house. As you say, you'll need to subsidise the window cleaner pretty heavily before turning him loose on our windows. If you paid him enough, he might even remove what netting remains.

           I am sorry to hear that the Encyclopedia condemns you to morning sickness for another month or two. I hope I can take as entirely truthful your statements about feeling very well all day. At any rate, descriptions of healthy meals are appearing frequently in your writing and this strikes me as being very good. I'm glad you are being sensibly selfish in consuming your own rations.

           Poor G____ will be in a ferment of excitement if, as you think, she has suspicions which she can't verify. She will be simply longing to give you advice and to recount all her own experiences for your benefit. You'd probably be better not to see too much of her later on. No doubt she is decent enough but she has a horribly Victorian attitude to the whole business, thanks no doubt to her ghoulish mother.

           So you're being "placid and optimistic". And what else would you be, please? You have no worries, we have (for once!) plenty of money, and you are as strong as a horse (remember the Matterhorn and the Pap of Glencoe!) I've always felt that in spite of symphonies, oboe parties and such trivia, there is a well-marked streak of the primeval in you, and no doubt you'll take to child-bearing like a duck to water.

          I've just finished The Professor by Rex Warner. I liked it very much though it would have been a miserable book to read just before the war. It gives a most convincing exposition of the Nazi creed of blatant egotism and brutality.  We can see that now in its proper perspective - collapsing under ten-ton bombs - but I think that book would have given me a dismal evening in 1938 or '39. I am now reading the travel book about Tunis. It has a very pleasing, consciously artistic style, and it's specially interesting because I've seen some of the places and things he describes.

                                                                                                                       7am Monday.

          I intend finishing this letter before I go off duty. I have been working most of the night and must get some bed-pressing hours in this morning, as I am on again this afternoon.

          It was nice to hear you again last night. We have been lucky recently in having a good line and I always get through without difficulty. I am disgusted to hear the time my letters are taking; but you'll see when they arrive that I am guiltless in the matter. Perhaps the service will be accelerated soon. Meanwhile I am selfishly glad that letters from your end are coming in as well as ever.

          Six weeks today since I arrived home on leave. Presumably that means I am halfway to my next leave which is indeed a lovely thought. I am going to make a fine old fuss of you this time. Meanwhile continue to look carefully after your interests and those of Caroline Mary ...

[Caroline Mary turned into Christine Margaret by the time I was christened. It's fascinating - to me at least - that the initials remained the same, and that they seem so sure of the infant's gender at this stage]

        

Saturday 10 March 1945, Marks Hall

My dear
             It was very thoughtful of you to write me a letter on Thursday which would help to carry me over the weekend. It arrived this morning. It is a beautiful picture you draw of your placid self ruminating over a cup of hot milk before going to bed with Hardy. I am very pleased to hear that you are taking this wise passivity so seriously.

             I envy you having all the old favourite books at hand. I have read just about all I want to read of the library here: the remainder consists of books that no-one could ever read even on a desert island. The charm about re-reading the classics is that you know you won't be disappointed and your relish for the good bits seems to grow with familiarity.

             At present I am picking my way through Memoirs of a Mountaineer by F. Spencer Chapman. In addition to doing a lot of Himalayan climbing he went as a member of a British diplomatic mission to Lhasa. But in spite of all the interesting things he saw and did in Tibet, his book makes dull reading except when he deals with the rigours of his climbing. The only really gripping passages describe hours spent on icy windswept ridges or long nights in freezing bivouacs at 23000 feet. Modern writers about mountains are inclined to jeer at the pompous style assumed by some of their Victorian predecessors like Tyndall and Wills. But the latter, with all their obvious faults, had an instinct for drama which the modern writers, more restrained in their feelings or possibly more truthful, lack completely. I like to read the pompous and grandiose thoughts which the Victorians ascribed to themselves on completing a difficult climb, even though at the time they probably thought on nothing but bursting lungs and hearts.

                                                                                                                                   Sunday


             I am continuing this at the astonishing hour of 6am. I have been on night duty; have done some work, had a little sleep and I am now looking forward to breakfast and then more sleep in my billet. It's amazing how hungry one gets during the night in spite of sandwiches which the Mess provides. ...
Meanwhile you will be doing your azure-lidded act for another three hours at least. But instead of the candied quince and other delicacies which Keats imagined near his sleeping beauty, you'll have an odd pint or two of certified on your table, or a box of vitamin tablets.

                                                                                                                                    5 hours later

            I have had breakfast and a short snooze and now I want to finish this note for the mid-day post. Last night I started reading O Absalom by Howard Spring. One of the men in the billet brought it in and with vague recollections of some sexy passages in Shabby Tiger, I grabbed the book. However it is very disappointing, full of slushy sentiment by Irish characters who all talk like Deirdre of the Sorrows. The Irish are tolerable when they are light-hearted but when they start wailing in their Celtic Twilight, I've had it.

           Note incidentally how that beautiful RAF phrase lends itself to the periodic construction of sentences. And while on this subject, I've discovered another failing of mine: Fowler speaks slightingly of the persons who in handwriting, "are well content if they get a dot in somewhere within measurable distance of its 'i'".

          I am looking forward to hearing you again tonight: it's lovely how the weeks are slipping past. Please continue to lead the life of a beautiful vegetable. I'm sure it must be doing you a lot of good after your too busy life in recent years. And you can ask yourself how many children we should need to have to make it worth your while standing in queue at the post office each week to collect the State's benison on your fertility.

          Sweetheart, this letter is more nonsensical than usual. .... I hope you will keep well from now on. Just be as selfish and indulgent as you like.

Thursday 8 March 1945, Marks Hall

My sweetheart
                       I am generally expecting your letters, but I was pleasantly surprised this morning by yours of the 6th, full of interesting details about Redlands. It seems surprisingly cheap having a baby there (by the way, do they double the charges if it should prove to be twins?) and I hope it is in no way inferior to a nursing home. Have any of your friends been there?

                       By all means keep as much of that money as you like, in the current account. And any bills that you don't feel like tackling in the next few weeks, just send on to me. There is no need for you to deny yourself anything. Thanks to the incredible dullness of life on this station I am spending very little, so there is no reason why our offspring should not be born with a silver spoon in her or his mouth, even though we may have to pawn it in later years. Some time next month I'll make arrangements for increasing the monthly transfer.

                      I'm glad the 'Companion' [to English Lit.] has arrived. It was decent of Mr Meikle to reduce the price though that did not enter my mind when we went to him. I'm sure it is a tome that will be very useful to me in teaching.

                    Your report on your health makes better reading now. I think you are wise to cut down your evening engagements and get some chair pressing hours in. The milk ration for 155 [Hyndland Road] sounds colossal: one would think some ancient Roman lady was using it for toilet purposes. Maybe I'll manage to get a few drinks when I'm on leave.

                   Another bundle of old letters arrived yesterday including one from you, one from your Pop and the famous epistle from my uncle.[Dan Gerrard, Minister of Fintry Cof S] So next time you phone Fintry you can tell him that his honour is vindicated. Your letter was written on 13th Nov. when you were in the middle of your bad cold and expecting me daily. I can see now that the long time I took to come home, coupled with the fact that my last letter before embarking never reached you, caused a long period of anxiety and suspense for you. However, all turned out for the best.

                                                                                                           After tea:

                   During tea time, the wireless was giving details of the debate in the Commons on this 5/- family allowance scheme. Some critics are complaining that it is too little to stop the decline in the birth rate. This talk about the falling birthrate always depresses me because of its implications. A country needs a large population only because firstly of recurrent wars and secondly cut-throat rivalry in trade. And if we are moving forward to an age of peace and economic cooperation it does not seem to matter if the population falls a bit. As for the other point in the debate, I suppose you as an ardent feminist are all out for the mother getting the five bob for her second child and not the brutal and selfish father.

                The news continues to be exciting and all the less serious newspapers are filled with speculations about the date of the final collapse of Germany. They are also putting forward all kinds of "authoritative" statements and beliefs held in "responsible circles" about the the government's demobilisation scheme. But the Govt. has not as yet indicated just to what extent demobilisation is going to be carried out on Germany's defeat. I can't help feeling that the period of waiting is going to be very boring. I have completely given up hope of teachers being taken out before their demob. group. Only the building trades seem to be getting preferential treatment.

              I am keeping very well ... Life continues to be very dull but because of that, time passes quickly enough in retrospect. I hope you are soon completely free from your morning disability: please continue to be as lazy as you can.

...

Note: This is the first of a number of letters that had been opened by the Censor and resealed with the label shown in the photo. It must have been an inhibiting process.

Wednesday 28 February 1945, Marks Hall

My darling,
                 A pleasant mail today consisting of your letter of Monday and Merchant Adventurers. The latter has taken some time to come but is in perfect condition. I have already read half of it. Did you realise that you had given one side the quaint address "RAF Officers' Mess near Colchester Essex"? On the other side you had fortunately remembered to put Marks Hall also.

                Thank Jean for her sciatica expert. I'll enter his name in my tablets but don't think it will be necessary to consult him this time. My leg continues its slow improvement and yesterday evening I went a short walk which I enjoyed. I think I'll probably do quite a lot of walking round here in the spring.

                We have already started to arrange our roster for the next leave period. I have put my name down for the beginning of May, with a period at the end of April as an alternative. So if things go to plan, we'll be able to celebrate together your exit from the teaching profession. Your next teaching job will be a purely amateur one and you should have the advantage of a very intelligent pupil!

                I'm glad you have arranged about the bookcase. It is badly needed and will enhance the appearance of our drawing room. Do you think that when he is at 66 [Novar Drive], you could sound him as to the possibilities of that mahogany table in the dark room? There is no need to do anything about it just now; that will be impossible till I can arrange a new dark room elsewhere. But it would be interesting to hear what he says.

               Don't do anything about these Plumier photographs at present. I think I'll wait till the censorship regulations are less strict. After all, it should not be very long now before some of the amenities of peacetime are restored.

              I have fallen into a routing of doing a few hours' work for the future during my spells off duty. My present study is Fowlers King's English. It is interesting to see what changes have occurred since the book was published in 1906. Some of the words which he singles out as neologisms at that time certainly don't suggest their recent origins nowadays eg racial. While one can't hope to follow his precepts, one is forced to admire his beautiful discrimination. A study of many of his extracts from the respectable journals at that time suggests that the standard of writing in decent newspapers has gone up greatly in recent years. On the other hand colloquial language is infinitely more slangy.

             Is there any word yet of the Oxford Companion to English Literature? Next time you are speaking to Mr Meikle, will you enquire about Skeats Etymological English Dictionary? I think there is one published by Oxford at about 8/- and if so, I should like that also. That postal order which you probably haven't cashed yet will pay for it!

           Since the last paragraph I have come off duty and retired to my little tin hut. It is a lovely night, as mild as if in summer. It has really been astonishing here since I returned from leave, and quite unseasonably warm. Every tree round our hut seems to have an owl living in it and tonight they are giving a fine querulous concert. It's a mournful sound but not unpleasant.

            I've just been recollecting that a year ago tonight I was camped near Baalbek on the first stage of our long journey to Cairo. Home seemed very remote, with no prospect of getting mail till we reached our destination. Surely by another year I'll be doing all my reminiscing at my own fireside while you doubtless recount the Prodigy's exploits of the day.

            My tin of water on top of the stove is beginning to sing quietly so I must have a wash and so to bed. I hope the decrease in your morning malaise continues. Please continue to look after yourself and fill your day with taking milk, orange juice, halibut oil and vitamin A & B tablets. Thanks to informative panels in the daily press, I am as well informed of your duties as you can possibly be. Look after yourself with the most complete selfishness. It's justified at this time.

...
            

Saturday 24 February 1945, Marks Hall

My darling spoufe,†
                             Congratulations on having your probable confirmed. I should have been rather surprised if Kate had decided otherwise as your symptoms seemed much too marked to be the product of suggestion only. I hope you are pleased: I know I am, but then my share in the business is short, pleasant and soon over. Probably once the initial malaise goes, you'll have quite a pleasant time being pampered by your mother. I only wish I were there also to make my ineffectual contributions to your wellbeing. I believe a husband always fusses around with cushions at these times.

                      Kate's "sitting up nicely" is an astonishing phrase to use about Caroline Mary who probably has go no very well defined bottom to sit on as yet. However, probably it simply means that the positioning is satisfactory from the medical point of view. And what less can be expected of an infant conceived with such energy and welcomed so promptly with cakes and ale!

                     See that you lead a life of gormandising complacency from now on and give up school whenever you feel like it, irrespective of what Kate says. You deserve a rest and I feel it is time I kept my wife for a change. And just in case your nasty wicked mind is flickering around the previous sentence, the emphasis is on the word "I" and not "wife".

                     How are the rest of the family taking Kate's annunciation? I'm glad Mrs B is pleased. I can imagine Irene giving a slightly scandalised "goodness me". You'll have one helluva time when you tell Bessie and had better be prepared for anything from a battery of short-arm jabs to a flood of tears.

                     After a lot of dull weather, today is fresh and bright. I should go for a walk, but I shall need to visit the library and then do some reading in the sun. If your father has already despatched Merchant Adventures, I'll be pleased to get it. I've been reading some more passages from the other books and they are really very good.

                     I'm sorry to hear Willie Skinner's death confirmed. He was a nice lad though pathetically unsure of himself. I wonder what inner compulsion made him volunteer for that dangerous branch, for he did not seem by nature the type for it. It is hard on his mother for Ian, though pleasant enough, is too lazily self-centred to be a mother's boy.

 ...........

                  It is three weeks tomorrow since I left to go on that lovely leave so by simple arithmetic is'ts only about 9 weeks till I'll be seeing you again(- DV, as Jean used to add). So time is passing quite quickly. Meanwhile the war seems to be slowly coming to a head  and the neutrals like Turkey obviously think the end is near. If by entering the war, *Turkey can open up the Black Sea route to Russia, David [Margaret's brother] may be left with little to do where he is.

                 I have been writing this with rather cold hands so please forgive he bad writing. I'll phone again late tomorrow evening. Meanwhile I must to lunch. ... I am so pleased that our second honeymoon is to be happily commemorated.

*Turkey remained neutral during most of World War II but entered on the side of the Allies on February 23, 1945, a day before this letter was written.
† Written thus to replicate the style of script found here.

Tuesday 20 February 1945, Colchester

My dear
             This is my morning off so for a change I am writing in my own time. I am looking forward to receiving a letter from you today but if I wait till it arrives before finishing this I'll miss today's outgoing mail. So perhaps you'll excuse another letter with very little "substance" in it.

             I was sorry to be so late phoning last Sunday. I was on duty during the evening and got involved in some work just as I was leaving. The line was very good and I heard your voice better tan ever. It is painful news that you are still feeling bad in the mornings though I don't suppose that we could reasonably expect you to be exempt from a universal complaint. Perhaps Kate [Dr Kate Harrower] will be able to indicate the time when you can expect relief from that uncomfortable phase of your present enterprise. I feel it is all wrong that I should not be enduring some pain or discomfort also. But short of inducing a series of regular hangovers I am afraid I can only offer you sincere but ignorant and helpless sympathy.

           ....The milder weather [has come] and it is most pleasant just now and quite unseasonably warm. I sat yesterday evening at the door of my hut and watched a lovely delicate sunset while he birds were shouting their heads off. We cannot hope that this is spring just yet by it is very pleasant after the horrors of January.

             The more I think of my last two leaves the more do I realise how marvellous it will be to come home for good. The bondage of Glasgow Corporation may be chafing at times but at least it does not lie on one day and night, and it leaves home life unaffected. I'm longing to get back to an orgy of domesticity - painting, whitewashing, refurnishing and generally making a new start in our life together. I am sorry we won't be able to move at once to the kind of house you would like* but we'll have lots of fun refurbishing our present home. This second start is going to be even more exciting and enjoyable than the first.

            Meanwhile I am patiently enduring a life of matchless dullness and monotony. It is really worse than the desert where there was always a war at hand and the exigencies of mere existence. However I count the weeks - only ten of them now till my next leave and a good prospect that Germany many be smashed during that time.

           I've at last written to Blakeney. I'm afraid my letter was too facetious to be of much help in his moral dilemma but probably the latter has resolved itself one way or the other. His next letter should be rather amusing.

          I'm dipping into the Impressions of Engl. Lit. with great enjoyment. It's a grand book for odd minutes. Some of the writers are violently prejudiced (eg Graham Greene dismisses Shaw in one slighting sentence) but interesting for all that. And the pictures are lovely.

          Lunch is beginning to call me insistently and with it the prospect of your letter. Receiving one means as much to me as ever it did in foreign parts. I'll be very interested to hear at the end of this week what Kate's verdict is. Meanwhile continue to keep a very watchful eye on your own health and comfort. Give my regards to all at 155 [Hyndland Road, home of his in-laws] and take a big hug (administered with due regard to your condition) to your own sweet self. ...

*It was in fact ten years after the war that they bought their own house in Broomhill, in which Margaret Findlay lived till the age of 92. Until then, they continued to rent a top flat in Novar Drive, Hyndland.

Thursday 16 February 1945, Colchester, Essex

The clock to which the key was hidden.

My darling
                 Another mild day but spoiled, like yesterday, by heavy mist morning and evening. This seems to be a characteristic of Essex in winter and it is an unpleasant one as everything drips with moisture. But for a few hours in the afternoon we got a promise of finer weather.

...

                 I'm reading Vestal Fire by Compton McK - another of his silly books about the Salernian Gulf, full of roseate descriptions and extremely old-fashioned naughtiness. He is really very dull and fit only to be read in rural Essex. I've also started Grierson's book which is very good indeed.

                 I wonder frequently about your health and hope you are not having too bad a time with your matutinal malady.* Don't hesitate to give up school at once if you feel like it. I'll be much easier in mind once you have resigned the academic life for one of fruitful leisure. I only wish I was constantly by you to look after your health and coax your morning appetite.

                 I hope you posted my package to Mlle Gilberte. I have still to write to the love-lorn Blakeney but I am convinced that by this time any counsel of moderation will be useless. He is assuredly forswunk. [sic] Do you think I am in any way responsible for his infidelity? Had I written earlier I might have saved him. And if I had remained in France I should have stood between him and his danger.

                 To my delight, on coming in for tea I found a letter from you. It is headed Feb.15th but from internal evidence it appears to have been written on the evening of the 14th. I am very glad to get it especially as I did not expect anything until tomorrow.

                 I'm glad you found the safe key. I must apologise for secreting it in your purse after receiving it from you. It's the same kind of prank that I played with that postal order. You have only to discover now where I've hidden the clock key.

                 Life still seems atrociously dull after that wonderful leave. Like you, I'm no longer satisfied with merely being at home, ie in U.K.  I want to be living with you in our own house - the only thing that really seems worth-while. The simplest pleasures are multiplied in your company. Reading with you, eating with you, seeing pictures in your company and even helping you with washing-up are all actively delightful. ...

                Look after yourself with extraordinary care .... Regards to Mrs B.

* Presumably on that last leave DF had become aware of the coming into existence of the current blogger - though I cannot think that the Mrs B referred to at the end is she! 

Wednesday 14 February 1945, Colchester

My darling
                  Back once again in my little tin hut. It is a heavy change after nine glorious days (and nights) of happiness and enjoyment but I expect I'll soon get accustomed to my bondage again. [Presumably the hoped-for leave had materialised successfully]


                  My journey was very pleasant. The train was late and did not get into London till after nine o'clock. If I had been sitting in cramped misery that would have been most trying for me but as it was, it simply meant a nice long sleep. I had breakfast in Euston and then decided to take the 11.10 from Liverpool Street. This got me to Kelvedon at 12.45 and on emerging from the station I found the same taxi that took me to the station 10 days ago. The driver looked as if he had been slumbering there ever since and in this somnolent neighbourhood I believe such a thing is quite possible. This providential taxi enabled me to get to the Mess in time for lunch.

                 Your food was very welcome. I ate all the sandwiches and cake but not the biscuits. However the latter will keep and will be very welcome for the odd spasm of hunger during the day.

                 Today is simply glorious and at midday it was really summerlike. I hope you had the same kind of weather in Glasgow. The past week has been very wet here, I'm told, and they had one very heavy fall of wet snow while I was away. I hope it stays mild and fair now for though weather doesn't really matter at all on leave, it makes a great difference to one's spirits and comfort under our present conditions.

                  During my absence thick linoleum has been laid on the concrete floor of our hut so the place is much less prison-like. It still looks rather grim after our lovely drawing room and the camp armchair I'm sitting on is a miserable substitute for the armchairs I've recently been lolling in. However I'll get used to these changes.
.....

                 Davis, one of my hut mates, has just bought a bicycle and is at present exploring the country on it. I might feel tempted to follow his example except for the fact that at bike would be utterly useless to me later on.

                 The feel of my stubbly chin reminds me that I must shave before dinner. I'll post this tonight in the hope that you will get it on Saturday. I hope your return to school wasn't too distasteful.* At any rate you have not much longer to go in that arduous profession. Take all possible care of yourself ...



* Did teachers, I wonder, get time off work if their husband was home on leave? It sounds like it. And although his wife did indeed give up teaching for some years, she returned to the job in the late'50s and went on teaching primary children till she was 65.

 

              

Wednesday 31 January 1945, Marks Hall

My darling
                 As I write the blessed rain is pouring down, washing away the remains of what I hope is the last snowstorm of the winter. It started on Monday night and was an exceptionally heavy fall. But the thaw came soon after and now we have the welcome rain. It's grand to feel the soft air again and to be able to rise in the morning without undergoing agonies.

                I hope the pipes remained unfrozen. They must be a great worry and inconvenience to you especially when they involve your sleeping in a cold deserted house. I rexpect the thaw has now relieved you of any further apprehension.

                 Your letter of 26th Jan arrived on Monday and I am half hoping for another one today. Your mail really comes through very well. I was sorry to hear that you had destroyed an old letter of yours which came back after its wanderings but I was comforted yesterday by a large batch of ancient re-addressed mail including two of your letters, two of your father's and one of Jean's [sister-in-law]. Your letters were the ones you wrote when it began to be reasonably certain that I was coming home and I am glad to be re-assured even at this late date that I was not unwelcome. You've no idea how I missed these letters at the time. There was I despatching what I hoped were faintly exciting tidings and getting never a word in reply.

                 At present I am trying to wangle some leave next week. I would not mention it at all before it is certain but for the fact that a little advance information may prevent you from dating yourself up with any children's parties or flute blowing evenings. It may perhaps seem early to be taking leave but since one never knows what the future may bring, one is better to close one's fingers over the bird. I'd be furious if I hoarded my leave and then found that circumstances forestalled me. Of course permission has not been granted yet and may not be given at all. But if all goes well I hope to get to Glasgow either late on the evening of Monday 5th Feb. or early on the morning of Tuesday 6th. I would be departing on the evening of Tuesday 13th so I would have a full week at home.

                I'll let you know definitely on Sunday evening. Meanwhile keep your fingers crossed ducky. If my visit should clash with the painters it is just too bad. I had to pick my provisional dates some time ago and I chose what I thought was likely to be the best time. Personally I should think that if the gentlemen haven't come by the end of this week, they are busy on another job. But above all remember my leave is not yet fixed definitely.

                I was sorry to hear on Sunday that your father had caught a cold at your aunt's funeral. I don't know why it is that funerals always seem to take place in the coldest and wettest weather. I hope he is better now: at least he doesn't need to struggle out to school now in a half-cured condition.* I am delighted to hear that your throat is nearly better. Please try to avoid any further illnesses. You sounded very bright and chirpy last Sunday in spite of the fact that you were going to venture out into the cold at that late hour.

                I'm still leading a leisurely life and reading more than I've done for a long time. Yesterday it was Hervey Allen's Bedford Valley - quite readable unsophisticated stuff.

                The war gets visibly nearer to its end every day. I'm afraid it's going to be necessary to hack Germany into little pieces, but even that should not take long. There are signs also of the Western Front wakening up.

                I want this to catch today's post so cheerio. Don't build up too definite hopes on my leave just yet but I'm praying hard that that should avail much. I'm longing to see you again ...

*DF's father-in-law had been a Primary School head. In fact, only one member of that family was not engaged in teaching.

Tuesday 16 January, 1945, Earls Colne:evening

Dearest,
             Your letter of last Friday came on Monday just after I had posted a letter to you. I was delighted to get it and hear of all the interesting things you are doing. My life here is very dull and uneventful. At its best it produces a kind of boring calm, but that is poor matter for letter writing. I eat, sleep, work and read and absolutely nothing else. I have not been out of the camp with the exception of that one visit to Coggeshall. But I am quite contented to contemplate the passing of time and hope that it won't be too long before I see you.

              One of the officers in my hut is turning out quite an interesting character. He is just home from Canada and has brought home many interesting things including an edition of the 'Moon and Sixpence' illustrated, or rather adorned, with thirty of Gaugin's pictures. He also brought back many fine prints of old masters including a gigantic one over six feet hight of Peter Brughel's* famous winter scene. The latter he carried all over Canada in a huge cardboard container but now that he has got it safely home, he wonders where he can find a wall to sustain it. Incidentally, how would you like a print of Brueghel's* harvest scene in our dining room? The jolly little man (in the bottom right corner if I remember correctly) lying sound asleep with his mouth open would be a grand inspiration for me after one of your excellent meals. We must inquire with Mr Annan next time I'm home.

              * How do you spell the bastard's name?  

              And talking of home, I want you to keep me accurately informed of the goings and comings of the  painters. If I should get the chance in the future of a brief spell at home I want to have up-to-date information about the decorators so that my visit does not clash with theirs. So let me have the information for my tablets please.

              From the news tonight, it really looks as if the Russians are putting on another major offensive. It is possible that the war might finish sooner that we thought at one time. It can't be too soon for me.

              A very senior officer here who was in the Western Desert at one time came up to me in the bar and wanted to know where he had met me before. As I had very little contact with him in the old days this is an awful tribute to my pan's unforgettable qualities.

              Dearest, when I began this letter I hoped to be free from interruption for a time but people have kept bobbing in every few lines with the result, I fear, that the whole thing is completely disjointed. So I am going to give it up, as I feel it will never make a decent letter anyway. However I'll post it tomorrow morning and hope you will read it with a charitable eye.  ...

              Goodnight, darling.


      

Sunday 14 January 1945, Earls Colne

My darling Margaret,
                                  I have just left the telephone on which I heard your sweet voice, have walked a few hundred yards across the park to the Hall (there really is a Hall) and am now writing this in our comfortable office. The wireless has just uttered the good news of the latest Russian successes and has now relapsed into chamber music. Probably you are listening to the same programme - that is if the family are sufficiently quiescent to permit it. Though I'd much prefer to be regarding you by our own fireside ... I feel the present circumstances are a great deal better than those of recent years when I was cut off by space and time. It is very comforting indeed to talk to you for a few minutes.

                      The weather has been much kindlier for the last two days. Our muscles are beginning to unwrap them selves and it is possible to sit either in our hut or in the mess without being conscious of the meanest wind that blows. I am doing regular spells of duty now. There is very little to do: in fact we of the Africa Korps are convinced that these home keeping youths have little idea what work means. One advantage here is that there are no women in our department. The boss is a F/Lt who was rather reserved till he found out what attitude was going to be taken up by three ex-acting Fl/Lts of wide experience. However, when he found us philosophical and in no way inclined to resent his acting rank, he opened out and has proved quite a pleasant and friendly cove. It is perfectly clear to me that my acting rank can only be recovered by going overseas and I'm certainly not going to seek it in that way. All the F/Lt post at home are quite properly filled by those who are medically unfit for overseas service.

                      One of the men who came here with me has already been posted - the melancholy Welshman whom I spoke of in my last letter. He has gone to a station nearer his home. The remaining three of us new arrivals are still surplus to requirements but there is no word of our going yet. The boss here has already made it clear to his superiors that we can't go overseas for a long time, since we have just been repatriated. this representation may not do any good but it can't harm us in any way. One thing is certain - I got a temporary reprieve when I left Chigwell, because most people there were on their way.

                     I'm still wallowing in Bleak House. It's a colossal book and I think very badly written. I find the heavy irony very monotonous and am going to finish the tome only to find out what possible connection all these unpleasant people can have with each other. Esther is however rather a surprise and seemed to me to have a touch of Thackeray about her - a kind of female Esmond.

                     The sergeant who is on duty with me has just made a cup of tea so I'll need to stop. In another half hour I'll be in my prosaic bed ...

Friday 12 January 1945, Earls Colne

R.A.F. Officers' Mess

Marks Hall

Colchester

Essex

Dearest,

             Note firstly the variation in the address. We have been told to use the simpler form omitting "Earls Colne".

             Your comforting letter arrived two days ago. The enclosed which must have tried your curiosity severely was simply a Christmas postal order from Albert. [Not a person - the name of the Glasgow school in which DF had taught English before joining up] This I am returning to you as it will complete the payment of the book which M. Meikle has promised to get for us.

             For several days past we have been floundering in deep snow but today a wild rainy wind is dissolving the whole landscape in glaur and glabber. I've been here a week now and the weather has been continuously grim but I'm beginning to see that in milder conditions the countryside could be attractive. It is undulating parkland with some fine old trees and astonishingly rural to be so near London (in a direct line, though not by railway time). After what you said last Sunday I had a look at the map and found that Ipswich would be accessible from this place. The snag is that we have a fairly long walk before we can contact a bus going either to Colchester (which is on the Ipswich line)  or to the London train. In the present weather the idea of walking anywhere is completely repugnant but if I'm here to enjoy finer weather and longer daylight I may attempt a little travelling. But at present we are almost completely isolated.

...

            I said I might phone every Sunday evening but I find now that it will not always be possible. For one thing I am sometimes on duty then and again, I believe there is sometimes a three hours' delay in calls to Scotland from here. However I'll try to make it Saturday or Sunday but if I don't phone at all you'll know it is because I can't get through. 

             I have not given Lloyd's Bank my new address so please forward any letters from them.

I have made several pleasant acquaintances here. One is a man who was at Torquay with me and went overseas on the same boat. He however has been home for over a year because of peritonitis. Two of the men in the hut live near London so they are always running up and down to see their families. The fourth occupant is a rather melancholy Welshman who pines daily for his release from the RAF and generally makes himself miserable. He only becomes human after three or four whiskies. On the whole, social life in a home station seems to be rather tame and stereotyped compared to our Roman nights abroad. No shots in the night: no boon companions tearing round the camp at three in the morning. Just a quiet evening in the mess and to bed at ten o'clock.

            I am glad school wasn't too unpleasant for you to go back to but I'm still looking forward to the time when you leave it for good and I take your place in the profession*. Thanks for the assurance that you will cook fine dinners for me then. I still remember fragrantly the steak and kidney pie which used to add additional blessedness to Friday evenings.

          And now I must shave before going to lunch. Give my regards to the family and thank your pa for re-addressing the church magazine. I hope he will not cease writing to me because I have left the overseas brigade. Take care of yourself, avoid colds, eat halibut oil capsules and generally prepare yourself for [the next leave] ...

             

 *Before the war, women in teaching had to give up their jobs when they married. This changed when the male teachers were called up.           

Tuesday 9 January, 1945, Earls Colne

My sweetheart,
                         Your letter has not yet arrived: I don't suppose that in this outlandish spot I can reasonably expect it before tomorrow evening. However I'll send off this letter without waiting for yours.

                         It is still most stringently cold here. Last night we had a heavy fall of snow; today the temperature is very low with alternating showers of snow and glimpses of anaemic sunlight. I seem to be getting used to the cold however and we have learned how to make the stove in our billet burn most of the night so that getting up in the morning is no longer completely petrifying as Jean [his youngest sister-in-law] would say. I am rejoicing in the hirsute warmth of the heavy underwear I have been carrying around for so long, and am using my new scarf constantly.

                           It was lovely to hear your voice on Sunday night even though the line was not too good. I suppose that in such bad weather I was lucky to get through at all. It is a week today since I left you and I am beginning to settle down again to the silly futile routine of the services. It's a good thing that a little work, a little drink and a little stereotyped Service conversation can help to distract me from the heartache of leaving home again. I've been getting to know a few folks, principally other Africa starred veterans. We stand round the stove at night bewailing our lost acting ranks and reviling everyone who has been lucky enough to stay at home.

                         Yesterday morning two of us walked to the nearest village - a place called Coggeshall, nearly 3 miles away. It is a nice little place with some beamed gable ends and old red roofs sagging with age. It has a plenitude of pubs with all the usual picturesque names and signs but yesterday our refreshment was a cup of tea and two buns at the local baker's. It would be quite pleasant to stroll down there on a summer evening for a pint of "old and bitter", but at present the landscape is so parched by icy winds that walking is not really pleasant.

                         I don't know yet if I am staying here. There certainly doesn't seem work for us all. I don't bother to speculate on the future. There's a fairly good library and really excellent food so I can satisfy mind and body without any trouble. Meanwhile the news from France is better and Monty seems to have done a good job recently as he has frankly confessed.

I'll write again as soon as I get your letter. If I get this little note away tonight, it may reach you on Thursday when you come home from school. Meanwhile cheerio ...
            

Early January, 1945, Earls Colne - leave over

F/O D.H.G.Findlay 105428

R.A.F. Officers Mess

Marks Hall

Earls Colne

Colchester

Essex

My darling,

                   I am convinced that my address should really read "Starkadder Farm, Little Howling" but I'll deal with that aspect of my present surroundings later on.

                   As I told you in a postcard, I had quite a pleasant journey [from Glasgow]to London. After breakfast in Euston I meandered through suburban Essex and landed at Chigwell about 10am. I soon found to my surprise that it was full of people in my racket [ciphers] all being trained to go to Northern Europe, which of course is not "overseas" nowadays. I reported to dozens of people and then had a full medical examination including three inoculations in quick succession. ...

... I was just settling down to compose a very dismal letter to you when a phone message came in from the Adjutant saying that myself and another officer called Davies were to leave first thing in the morning for a unit near Colchester. This involved returning to London where we passed the time between trains in a News Theatre and in the Regent Palace Hotel. Then a very slow and tortuous journey brought us here.

                   And 'here' is almost off the map. We are right in the heart of rural Essex and I was certain that old Adam Lambsbreath would be awaiting us at the station. Actually there was nobody, since the unit did not know we were coming. However after an icy wait of half an hour a car arrived to take us to Marks Hall.

                 I should think this must be one of the most primitive of home stations. Four of us are billeted in a large Nissen hut containing one stove which scorches one side of those who huddle round it and leaves the other side to be fanned by the icy gales. The temperature when we got up this morning was something awful as there had been a fall of snow during the night. However the country is quite pretty and I think I could enjoy it here in milder weather.

               However, anything like permanence is not yet in sight. Nobody knows why we are here and I'm afraid we will be on our way soon. The vast majority of those who preceded us home from the Mediterranean have been sent to Northern Europe and I fear that I may make that journey soon too. I must say that from first impressions I'd be quite happy to stay here.   

                I felt very dismal after leaving you. Life is so flat .... and the contrast between [the time spent on leave] and this semi-convict life is heartbreaking. However I suppose I'll soon settle down to the dull routine of passing time and it won't be long before I can give myself the pleasure of anticipation again. ...

... The Mars Bar I intend to eat luxuriously in bed some afternoon. If I stay here, I can see me getting in lots of bed-pressing hours.

[This letter ends with the expression of hope that the future - ie after the war ends - is perhaps "a bit nearer and more distinct than it used to be in the past."]