Wednesday morning 8 August 1945, Marks Hall

The nuclear bombing of Hiroshima, 6 August, 1945

Darling Margaret,
                           Your extremely exuberant letter arrived on Monday, to gladden me with its tidings of new dressing gowns, sweetly functioning kidneys, superannuation cheques and vacated coal cellars. I am very glad indeed to hear that Kate is so pleased with you: you seem to be in every way a model of expectant motherhood. I suppose that on your next visit she'll be giving you a thorough examination and I'm sure she will find everything quite satisfactory.

                         After our Sunday evening storm the weather turned distinctly cool here and in fact yesterday was rather a bleak day. I hope your good weather is continuing so that you may continue to enjoy the garden rather than be cooped up with your 'wally dugs' and highland cattle.

                        When you mentioned on Sunday the name of the teacher who is expected back to school, I am afraid I was very dumb not to recognise it. When I was visiting H.Q. Middle East in Feb. of last year, I found Alec Keith sustaining the dignity of a Squadron Leader in Signals and from him I got several whiskies and the information that our wing was on its way to Corsica. He is a very pleasant fellow. I don't quite understand why he is going back to Albert, as he had left us before the war to go to Jordanhill college.

                       Some of the papers this morning are forecasting a big acceleration in demobilisation. If this turns out to be true, I'll begin to have some doubts about the wisdom of coming out under Class B. If I received an offer within the next few weeks, I would accept. But the longer they delay, and the nearer my ordinary release comes, the more do I think on the financial advantages of coming out in the normal way. In fact I should not be surprised to see the Govt. scrubbing the whole class "B" scheme, as it has not been a great success.

                       The Bomb has thrown everyone into a Wellsian frenzy and the "Express" today obliges its readers with a diagram showing the "probable construction of the new bomb" - the last word in journalistic fatuousness. I find the discovery extremely depressing, even though it will undoubtedly shorten the Japanese War. If mankind can't avoid future wars, the only survivors will be a few Arabs in the centre of the desert or a happy dweller near the north pole.

                       Such a diabolical discovery will I think be another sad blow to conventional religion. The old "God moves in a mysterious way" gag has already been stretched to breaking point and I don't see how the doctrine of an external, omniscient, guiding presence can be made to include a man-made weapon of destruction which promises to make earthquakes, fires, floods and other "acts of God" look simply childish. The parsons will have to go back to Plato to learn how to see God in the recesses of Matter. Whitehead is very good on the necessity for a new theology and I think you should recommend his book to Jack Shelly.

                    Time is passing quite quickly these days and it will soon be a month since I left you. And in less than two months I should be seeing you and the offspring. You have always been a reasonably punctual person and I am expecting you to deliver the goods right on time. I suppose that the child gets increasingly active as the days pass, and by 27th Sept. it will probably be shouting at the pitch of its infant voice "Don't Fence me In".

                  My regards to the family ...


This blog has several fascinating entries on the demobilisation process and the bombing of Japan.

Thursday 25 January 1945, Earl's Colne

My Margaret
                     No Keatsian hare ever limped more tremblingly over more frozen grass than did I coming on duty this evening. As for the limping, I am glad to say my rheumatism is considerably improved; hours spent massaging my leg in front of a red-hot stove are at last having their effect. But I can truthfully say I never saw grass more frozen or trees more heavily coated with hoar frost than what we have here. As a winter landscape it is all rather fine but we live too near the margin of discomfort here to be able to appreciate fully he beauties of the frost. I hope you are not having the same kind of weather in Glasgow: if you are, you had better leave several fires burning at 66*, day and night.

                      Your letter of 22 Jan arrived yesterday. Like you I am not yet entirely accustomed to the surprise and delight of getting letters so quickly and frequently. Please get rid of that sore throat at once and don't hesitate to stay off school if necessary. You know perfectly well that you get little thanks for struggling out to school when you are not really fit. Sorry to hear about your aunt's death. I knew she was not well but did not realise just how serious her illness was. I hope it has not upset your mother too much. How is her cold? She can't be anticipating a very lengthy convalescence when she has chosen such a small book as Pride and Prejudice for sick reading.

                     I've been talking to some people who have spent the whole war dodging around home stations and am astonished at their querulous attitude. One complains because he has been posted 50 miles away from home after being billeted on his wife for over a year. Another moans because his leave is two months overdue. For myself, I am so glad to be relatively near you, to get letters every other day, and to hear you once a week, that I keep my fingers crossed to preserve this happy state of affairs. People at home haven't got the same philosophy as those poor wretches overseas who simply had to make the best of service life or go completely round the bend.

                    That sounds a perfectly bloody tea-party that you are going to on Sunday.  It's hard to imagine a more deadly combination unless perhaps M_______  could be added to the brew. I'm glad you can use my phone call as an excuse for getting away.

                    Your description of your own soul as being a vacant lot ready for possession by several hundred devils is extremely alarming - that is if I am meant to take it seriously. Also, it is disturbing to be told that I am responsible for this dangerous state. I can't help you with my own "convictions" because convictions are emotional things and I feel it rather presumptuous for anyone to be convinced about religious truths. All one can do is to suggest modestly that certain things seem reasonable while others are an affront to reason.

                    Someone has been inconsiderate enough to bring in some work so I'll have to stop. I keep hoping I may see you again in the not too distant future, so keep me au fait with the painters. Look after yourself, darling.

...

*66 Novar Drive, where their flat was. The letters are all addressed c/o Stewart, 155 Hyndland Road, where his wife stayed with her parents for much of the time when DF was away.