Are things settling down for you all at home now your father’s funeral is behind you? I hope so. Write again soon and tell me everything our lovely Annie is up to. Do you think you could manage to get a photo taken of her that you could send to me? She must have changed so much since I last saw her. I can’t imagine what she looks like now, so a photo would be lovely. Here’s hoping.
All my love
Ted
May 1941, England
My dearest Elsie,
This war has certainly taken a strange turn for us. I can hardly believe what I am about to write. We are still training and taking part in some long-distance exercises, but boredom is certainly setting in and we are being encouraged now to play games, as if there was nothing unusual about the times we are living in. It really is like being back at school now. Properly organised competitive games and cricket on the village green! I can’t work it out. Surely we haven’t got enough troops out there to justify this lack of activity? If this is the only purpose they have for us, why did they bother advertising for more recruits? It begins to not make any sense. About the only useful thing we are doing is gardening – yes, gardening. We’ve been issued with tools and seeds and we’re growing food, which is obviously useful as the country has to be able to feed itself. Honestly, if I didn’t know better I’d think I was dreaming. At least I’ll have some experience when we finally get our own house and garden so I might know a plant from a weed.
So, Lizzie has gone and got herself a job has she? Never thought I’d see that day arrive. Your lazy sister may have a heart of gold but I have observed that she’s generally quite willing to sit around and let others do all the work. So all credit to her.
Well, would you believe I’m now needed to bowl in today’s big contribution to the war effort, so have to go.
Love
Ted
July 1941, England
My dearest Elsie,
Thank you, thank you, thank you – in fact, a million times thank you for managing to send me that gorgeous photo of Annie. She is adorable. How I wish I could be there with you both. But at least now I can look at her and imagine the two of you together.
There is so little to report here. We hear the German bombers flying overhead on their way to bomb our cities. We help the ARP people out watching for fires and being on-hand to help put them out. The big news is that we finally were able to enjoy a proper concert by a military band. Although our own little concerts with Joe on the mess tins are great fun, this band was amazing. It was quite a morale boost, I can tell you.
I’m not sure I’m really happy about you going back to work. It’s a bit soon isn’t it and what about Annie? She should be with you not your mother. I understand that Lizzie getting herself a job has made you feel you ought to be back at work, but you have our daughter now to look after. I certainly don’t want you to think you have to go to work when this war is over and I’m home.
Listen to me. What am I doing picking a fight with you? I think my brain is starting to suffer as well from all of this inactivity. I know you will do whatever you think is best – it can’t be easy for you at home either. God, I wish this war was over.
Love
Ted
August 1941, England
My dearest Elsie & the birthday girl,
Happy birthday to our darling Annie. I can hardly believe she is one year old already and I have only been able to see her once, but I do at least have the photo to look at. What are you doing to celebrate?
We’re all beginning to wonder if we will ever see any action in this war. We’ve trained and trained and trained and I may be no expert but I reckon we’re looking pretty good now as a unit – certainly much better than the shambles we were when we first joined. We’ve been moved around and there have been so many rumours that we’re about to be mobilised to somewhere, but none of them ever seem to come to anything. Some of the boys are getting restless because they want to make a positive contribution to this war – they want to get out there and fight – and at the moment it’s easy to feel that what we are doing isn’t very useful. I think it’s a bit more complicated than that, though. Surely part of winning a war is protecting and defending your own territory? It’s no use sending all your troops into battle just to leave your back door wide open and undefended to allow the enemy in. So I’m content to do the job I’m given and trust to our leaders that they can see the bigger picture. I know, that’s not what I said a few months ago. Maybe I’m getting old and learning how to be patient.
Write to me soon and cheer me up darling
Ted
September 1941, England
My dearest Elsie,
We’re doing some really large scale exercises now. I can’t help feeling that this is leading somewhere for certain this time, but I don’t know where or when. There’s a certain atmosphere hanging over the camp – and that’s not just down to the soaking rain that has turned it into a quagmire – there’s an expectancy that something is about to happen.
I think I told you in my last letter that some of the lads are getting restless. Well, this is only getting worse. Frustration with the inactivity and the sense of pointlessness to our days is spreading like an infectious disease, so it would be welcome news if they are about to send us somewhere – anywhere. Just give us a job to do or release us and let us go home. Yes, the frustration is infecting me, too. There is so much I could be doing – not least of which is getting to know my daughter – but I can’t do that because I have to be stuck here doing very little. So, relying on you as usual my love to tell me everything and I’ll just have to lie back, close my eyes and imagine I am there with you.
Love
Ted
October 1941, England
My dearest Elsie,
The King inspected some of our troops today. I wasn’t among them, unfortunately, but Sid and Joe were – they said it was a really motivating experience. The troops lined the drive in Crewe Park all the way up to the hall. Forget your ‘tree-lined avenue’ – this was a ‘soldier-lined avenue’ and the King walked all the way, stopping to speak to men – of all ranks, not just officers – as he went. He was dressed in full military uniform. The lads really appreciated his time and attention and gave him such a round of applause. It’s a wonder it couldn’t be heard in Barminster!
Afterwards, everyone was in a real holiday spirit. Morale had been dipping so this really couldn’t have come at a better time. I expect the King went on to a sumptuous meal at the hall with the generals and such, but we didn’t care. We had our own parties in the camp. There was such a good atmosphere. You would have thought we had all been drinking, but we hadn’t touched a drop – we were just drunk on the atmosphere I guess and the renewed optimism. If that’s the role the King has to play in all of this, well, I take my hat off to him.
I am so thrilled to hear Annie has taken her first steps. So years of cuts and bruises now begin. I hope she isn’t as clumsy as her dad. My mum was forever patching me up when I was little. She used to say I could manage to fall over in an empty room and still bang my head on something. You are really going to need eyes in the back of your head!
All my love
Ted
November 1941, at sea
My dearest Elsie,
After months of waiting, rumours, speculation and nothing happening, when the order did come to move it was instant and with urgency. We took an overnight train to Gourock where we were immediately ushered on board the Duchess of Atholl. The conditions are cramped and the food is average, but everyone is pleased to finally be on our way to something. There’s a sense of purpose, as though we are now going to make a meaningful contribution to the war. Even so, we still don’t know exactly where we’re going – and I probably couldn’t mention it even if I knew.
Crossing the Atlantic was fairly uneventful for most of us – keeping busy is the hardest thing. There’s very little to do. We have to keep fit and do laps every day around the deck. We play cards a lot, t
here’s a ping pong table and a dart board and George is still playing the harmonica. The journey has shut Joe up again. He’s been sick as a pig most of the way – spent most of his time groaning in his bunk, running to the lavatory. Not much fun, I can tell you.
We’ve just had the most incredible welcome as we approached the American coastline. We were heading into Halifax when we were aware of ships on the horizon. It turned out to be the US Navy. There were so many boats – made our military escort look like the boats Annie might play with in the bath. They took us into land. It was early morning and the sun was rising, sending glittering bolts of light across the sea towards land. The harbour was already awake, with fishing trawlers setting off for the day. It was a wonderful sight after weeks at sea.
I’m going to leave you in a hurry now, my love, so this letter can be mailed and I have to see what our orders are. I think we’re disembarking here but I don’t know what the plan is from here.
Remember, I am thinking about you and Annie every minute of every day.
Ted
December 1941, Cape Town
My dearest Elsie,
Within two days we were on our way again – different ship, a US naval boat this time. We weren’t allowed any time on shore. Had to make our way down through the West Indies, a final stop for fuel and water and then three more weeks at sea. We didn’t see any more land until we reached Cape Town. Even for those of us who have found our sea legs, this journey is wearying. Endless stretches of ocean lie ahead of us every day. Finally, in Cape Town, we were allowed ashore. We received an amazing welcome from the local people. I think we’re only here for a couple of days, but they have certainly pulled out all the stops to keep us entertained – to be honest, after the tedium of all those weeks at sea, just the novelty of feeling dry land under your feet and being able to walk down a normal street is enough for most of us. It feels like a holiday and there is certainly a carnival atmosphere, albeit tempered somewhat by the news of the attacks on Pearl Harbour, which we heard when we landed. We still don’t know where we’re heading, but it’s looking more and more likely we may encounter the Japanese at some point.
I haven’t heard from you, but that’s hardly a surprise – who knows how long these letters take to travel and it’s not as if we’re in one place any more. I hope everything is good at home. It will soon be Annie’s second Christmas and still we are not able to be together as a family. Not only that; every day I travel further and further away from you both. It feels as though we are going backwards.
Love
Ted
January 1942, Singapore
My dearest Elsie,
We’ve landed finally. It’s very hot and humid here and extremely green.The last few weeks have been very strange. We had Christmas Day in Mombasa, but the strangest thing happened ‘en route’. I think at some level there must have been a change of plan and we were split from the rest of the fleet – who knows where they ended up. We had New Year in the Maldive Islands. I never knew, but there are hundreds of these tiny islands, mostly idyllic white sand beaches, many of them uninhabited – maybe we can go there one day together. The festive hospitality of Cape Town felt a million miles away. This was a functional stop for fuel and water and then back to sea. We arrived in Singapore in the middle of a tropical rainstorm. That probably doesn’t mean much to you, my love, as I know you’ve never been out of England, let alone to a tropical climate, but it means rain like you just can’t imagine. It pours down, bouncing off the pavements and running in rivers down the street, but it’s still warm and humid. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stops and everything dries out. Steam rises from the land in the heat of the sun and the earth smells fetid. I still don’t know what they’ve got in mind for us, but there is talk of supporting other units that are actively engaged here.
How is our darling Annie? Please write and tell me everything she is doing. It won’t be long before she’s into everything – probably already is. God knows I can’t wait to see her and you too. I miss you both so much.
All my love
Ted
February 1942, Singapore
My dearest Elsie,
It’s difficult to keep morale up here. We’ve had heavy losses – I’m devastated that we lost Sid in the jungle – he was like a brother to me – they all are really, when you live and work on top of each other like this and in these circumstances. It’s always bad and no matter how many we lose I can’t get used to it. We were defending on a ridge, trying to keep the road through the jungle open. There was jungle all around us. We became isolated from the other units and the Japanese, they just came upon us so quickly. Imagine this – they used bicycles to get around on the jungle tracks – can you believe it? The conditions out here are unimaginable – it is so wet, even in the heat we never seem to dry out properly. Apparently it’s called a monsoon and we are in the middle of one of two monsoon seasons they have every year. And then the jungle is so dense – we don’t know how to handle it, but they clearly do. We never trained for jungle warfare – did any of our troops? I don’t know. We’ve trained to work with vehicles and that simply isn’t an option that is open to us here. I frequently wonder why they chose our unit for this job. Surely others would have been better qualified? I don’t know.
Anyway, they just came upon us. Sid was up front – blew him to pieces. I managed to retreat and hide in the jungle. Our forces were retreating all around, but my unit had been devastated. There were six of us hiding in the jungle – Joe was with me – don’t know what happened to George. We had no choice if we were going to stand a chance of surviving – we had to make our own way through the jungle and hope we could meet up with friendly forces – either our own or the Australians who were also actively engaged. It took us days of slow and painful movement through the jungle, but we were lucky, we made it. But now, we’ve retreated all the way back into the stronghold at Singapore. We’re defending, but we’re thinly spread. The Australians are mad. Fearless. And they have a really relaxed attitude in spite of the chaos all around. We’re working hard at night to build defences so the Japanese can’t see what we’re doing. We may be depleted in numbers, but after all those months spent running coastal defences back home, we’re quite a confident unit – we understand the rules of this part of the battle much better than we ever did the jungle warfare bit.
I wonder how much of this will be struck out by the censors? I hope you’ll be able to thread together enough to know I’m not rambling. I am still in control of my mind. And no matter what happens you have to remember that I love you and Annie more than anything else in the world. Promise me you will never forget that.
All my love, always
Ted
7
A Family Conference
Suzie folded the last letter and replaced it carefully in the envelope. A tear fell onto the envelope and she put her hand up to her eyes, only slightly surprised to find she was crying. The letters had provoked an emotional response, not least of which because she knew there was no happy ending, but because this was her grandparents she was reading about. She also felt almost guilty for having read such personal letters that were never meant for her eyes. Ted’s letters were so full of hope, so thrilled to have a daughter and a woman he loved, so sure that, whatever the problem was concerning their families, they would be able to overcome it and create their own fairy-tale-style happy ending. But it was never to be. Suzie felt an overwhelming sadness.
At the same time, that last letter also had more than a note of desperation: a feeling that somehow this was the end. She cursed her lack of knowledge of the key events of World War II. History had never been her strongest subject and all she could really remember studying at school was the endless progress of the Industrial Revolution, with the likes of Jethro Tull (whom Suzie had thought was a folk rock band) and his seed drill. What happened in Singapore in 1942? Did it fall to the Japanese? If so, what happened to Ted? Even with her sketchy knowledge of the war, Suzie had s
een enough war films to know that being a Japanese prisoner of war had been grim – a fate worse than death, or even a fate that meant death for many – a slow and torturous death either by being forced to work in the Japanese slave camps on projects like building the so-called ‘death railway’ (The Bridge on the River Kwai sprang to mind) or from some horrible illness. Just the thought of it gave her a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Here, in her modern, comfortable life, it was impossible to imagine the horrors that people had suffered in the war and in truth she had never really had to. Now, by some cruel twist of fate, she was being challenged to face it and try to piece together what had happened to an ancestor – no, a close relative – who, until just a few short days ago, she had not known existed.
Annie stirred in her armchair and moaned slightly. Suzie looked up. Her fire had long since died away leaving just a pile of ashes in the hearth. She had been so engrossed in the letters that she had not even noticed. Outside, the sky was growing lighter. The inky darkness of night was giving way to morning and Suzie suddenly felt very tired. She fetched a blanket from the airing cupboard and curled up on the sofa. Tired though she was, her mind was too busy recalling and reflecting on the contents of the letters for sleep to come easily, but eventually she must have dozed off as the next thing she was aware of was Annie shaking her.
‘Wake up, Suzie,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be late for work. And what are you doing here anyway?’
Annie looked weary. Her eyes were bloodshot and her clothes were crumpled. Suzie imagined she probably didn’t look much better herself, having slept in her clothes, too.
‘I’ll call Tom and tell him I’m going to be late,’ said Suzie, ignoring Annie’s question about her presence on the sofa for the moment.
Having made the phone call, Suzie went to the bathroom, splashed cold water over her face and brushed her teeth with a new toothbrush she found in the bathroom cabinet.
The Roots of the Tree Page 7
