My Dear Bessie

by Chris Barker

  I favour a serving hatch between the kitchenette and the dining room, for one thing! I bet you won’t have that. Ten children will take some feeding though, won’t they! Does the house need painting on the outside, as well as receiving your slight attention in some of the rooms? One good thing about not having a great deal of furniture is that you will be able to plan things better. In most homes, there’s far too much and it’s bunged in as few rooms as possible. You’ll probably find it desirable to put a piece of furniture in each room, so that it is furnished. I was thinking about the floors – you know the polishing idea. If the wood was not altogether suitable, could you put a veneer of three ply down? It would only be needed round the edges of the room, I suppose, where the carpet touched it.

  When you get a bit settled in I will get you to enrol me in the Croydon Labour Party, and (if you will) to join yourself. It is a penny or so a week.

  I wonder if there is a privet hedge, whether the gate swings alright, and what the path is made of. In my imagination, I am already coming there for the first time (fancy finding your way to your own home) AND YOU ARE MEETING ME.

  I love you.

  Chris

  10 January 1946

  My Darling,

  What colour is the house painted, my darling? Keep your eye open for a ladder in case I have to climb one to see what is stopping up the chimney! I say, are we bringing Janet – Christopher up to believe in Santa Claus? What a task that bringing-up is going to be – principally for you, I am afraid, my darling, my heroine. Have all the rooms got fireplaces in them? (In Italy there are very few fireplaces in houses. They don’t need them. In winter they just have a brazier in the middle of the room.) We must get electric fires in all the rooms – and bags and bags of switches everywhere!

  Is East Croydon nearer London or further from it? My idea of a back garden is either all grass (they call it LAWN in those parts) or a good lot of space for such vegetables as lettuce, celery, radish, rhubarb. The grass would be for Janet – Christopher. I am busting with the news about Janet – C, but shan’t tell anyone here.

  I love you.

  Chris

  11 January 1946

  My Wonderful, Wonderful Wife,

  I hope you went to your old friend’s wedding, but that you didn’t feast too much.

  I am quite the same as you about family, friends and old associations. I don’t want them now. I have no urge towards them, I am disinterested. I am only interested in you, and you take all my thoughts and all my time and I am very pleased about it. This relationship is wonderful; I am entirely, completely and absolutely satisfied in and with you. We have to drag along with some acquaintances, but it is no good pretending they have any real claim.

  My Darling, I could cry for you sometimes, too, because in my way I could do with some soothing too – and you are the only one to do it.

  Will you try to feed Janet – C. yourself if you can, or will it be a ‘Glaxo’ baby, please? But then, I don’t suppose you know till you’ve seen the Clinic. Of course you won’t be a blind and stupid parent – but you’ll be vocal to me about ‘young Janet’ or ‘young Christopher’s’ alleged shortcomings as well as their evident excellences. And I shall encourage it. Of course we’ll discuss our children – and their friends. Our children will have all the freedom that we think is good for them. I believe that a parent has a useful purpose, and I am not going to be a neutral and I won’t let you be. Our parental powers, though, will be 20th century, mutually-agreed between us, and wisely wielded. I hope. We should be silly to keep our children in ignorance because we also want them to have ‘freedom’. Our children will respect us as people, not as mere parents. I hope.

  [Incomplete]

  13 January 1946

  My Darling Bessie,

  Do you prefer a hospital to a nursing home, Bessie my darling? I hope you do.

  How are you going on about your ‘artificial dentures’ (to give them their modern and almost unrecognisable name). Hadn’t you better get them as soon as you can, in order to get used to them while you are fairly normal? I believe it is true that child bearing is bad for teeth, the calcium being required for the baby, so I am afraid your teething troubles will just about be starting.

  A bright idea: going to Sanderstead gives me another MP I can legitimately write to! I have not yet heard from Joseph Reeves, but Harold Macmillan has written twice, so I think I’ll vote Conservative next time …

  All the oranges and lemons in the grounds of my billet (the Via Vitello, near Via Salute stazione, if you are ever this way!) have been picked by the owner, so now, for a sly suck, I am dependent on the orchard where our cookhouse is at present. Of course, we get oranges for rations. I eat all I can get, most chaps just ignore them.

  I am always thinking of you, wondering what you are doing and knowing that you look lovely doing it.

  I love you.

  Chris.

  19 January 1946

  My Darling, Wonderful Wife,

  Have just decided we must get a magic lantern for Janet – C. A little previous, but there you are, we are projecting ourselves six months ahead all the time, until we are together; it is only a little step to think of Janet – C. as a bouncing reality.

  The VD Film Show was a flop as far as I was concerned. Three films, two hours the lot. Sex Hygiene, Pick Up, and DE733, story of a submariner-chaser that didn’t chase because its crew were in hospital or sick through VD contracted at the last port. The films were all American, and the tempo was very different from our own. They might have made an appeal to US troops, but not to ours, I think. There were plenty of close-ups of the male sex organ that might have caused some of the chaps to pause, but judging by the remarks everyone makes as they come out, I would say it was nearly useless.

  I love you.

  Chris

  21 January 1946

  My Darling,

  Today has been clear and crisp and sunny – but mail-less. Probably the weather over France has stopped the planes, I hope there’ll be something tomorrow.

  And now I have ‘a statement to make’ which may surprise you and probably please you – I have sold my last cigarette, done my last deal, on the Black Market. The decision is quite likely an important one in my little life, but perhaps not so much against the pitiful background of the world today. A lot of little things have caused this reversal. Perhaps my first real thought was caused by your letter acknowledging the money from Bert, that ‘I do not like this for you.’ Lately, I have seen a cartoon (I believe by George Whitelaw of The Daily Herald) showing Mars, God of War, looking down on a world with ‘Atom Bomb’, ‘Java’, ‘Persia’, ‘Black Market’ shown on it, and underneath there was a caption ‘Carry On, My Children’. Although I have previously said to myself ‘Cigarettes are luxuries. That’s alright, it’s the food that is criminal’, I clearly see now that the people who buy cigarettes are those who sell the food and other things, and the prices are related. I have said before ‘If I don’t do it, my mates will.’ That is certainly true, but it does not constitute a moral justification, only a plausible excuse.

  In a way, I am proud of being ‘different’ from other chaps. And when I ‘flog’ things I simply descend to their level. Earlier, I have said ‘The money is very handy.’ That is true, but no argument. If I disagree with Black Markets, or profits anywhere, I cannot morally justify fostering them here. I think I have made, in money and kind, about £65 by selling cigarettes, etc. In the next five months I could add another £60, easily. And it is the fantastic ease of putting down 50 cigarettes and picking up £1 5s. in exchange that has at last shaken me into correct appreciation. cannot undo the evil that I have done, but it is incumbent upon me now to stop doing it, so that I may hold on to my righteousness; so that you may continue to think I am a good man; so that Janet – C. may be proud of me and not be ashamed. Don’t think that am going religious. I shall still do many things that are wrong, like putting ‘FIGS’ on the outside of the parcel, finding things as soo
n as they are ‘lost’, telling usual lies to get out of trouble.

  Please tell me your troubles and let me know how things are.

  I love you.

  Chris

  22 January 1946

  My Darling,

  Three smashing letters came tripping in today.

  I was very glad to get the maps of the house and it certainly gave me a good feeling to get them. It looks smashing. I can’t judge the size, but that you say ‘nice little’ means a lot to me. On the exterior, I have always liked the ‘pointed’ effect with bricks; I am not too keen (only a photo glance) at the wooden fence outside. I’d prefer bushes. We can discuss this when I have seen them. Also what do you think about ‘Woodbridge’? I don’t like house names, and that one is singularly uninspiring. I am in favour of whipping it off. You’ll probably agree, but may wish to wait until I get home to do the deed.

  I like your garden ideas, and ‘scratching’ is all you had better do, me gal. If it wants digging, try and get a man in. It will be grand eating our own lettuce. The apple trees we could discuss. They take a minimum of five years (I believe) to fruit, and something else may be better. I dunno.

  Pinks, primroses, beiges; if you want them, I’ve no doubt you will get them. Anything in this line that appeals to you will have a strong appeal to me. I can understand your excitement. You transmit it to me very acutely and expressively, and you transform my future into magic joy and pleasure.

  I can help you consider our electric fire needs. Perhaps a couple would do and we could change them around as we needed them. We could then get a couple of good ones instead of perhaps four not-so-goods.

  I hope you can get on the ’phone, for a help to banish loneliness. It may be a job, and if it is you must see what a bit of neighbourly cooperation can do. I don’t know that we could afford it permanently, but it is a great help when you need to talk to someone.

  I love you.

  Chris

  26 January 1946

  My Wonderful Expectant Mother,

  Today came mail (18 and 19) and THE NEWS that – as you joyfully declare – you are PREGNANT, and everything all very official and Town-Hall-ified. What do I say, my Darling? (Of course, I had to tell my mail driver – who is in the same position.) What do I do? Do I congratulate, commiserate, or commemorate? Think it better just to say I love you, and that your husband is proud of you, not only for those characteristics which are grandly yours, but because you are a successful woman. What a wonderfully interesting time we are going to have in the future. Non-Stop Variety, indeed.

  I am very glad the doctor didn’t think you were small; and you must get the hymen attended to as soon as you can. I wonder if you could put in for the Purley hospital now, even though you are not actually in residence. I don’t have to tell you to follow the instructions on the bottles, and to be sure to get the extra milk, eggs, meat. (If it weren’t for having the baby, it would be smashing, wouldn’t it!) The sixty extra coupons seem a good many, but I suppose they will soon go. I hope you don’t have trouble getting a cot. You seem to have been very lucky so far with baby wool (is it all white?), and the 18 ounces was certainly a grand capture.

  The demob figures are OK, up to standard. I do hope I shall be with you when you’ll need me most. But it is a hope, a chance, rather than a probability.

  I love you.

  Chris

  27 January 1946

  My Darling Bessie,

  I have just returned from a walk this afternoon along the harbour and sea wall of Portici. Very nice and healthy. Plenty of activity amongst the fishing ships, taking on ice and boxes into which to put the ship’s catch, when caught. I have a feeling I’d like to have a couple of days at sea with them, but I am afraid the Army wouldn’t like it.

  I agree with your remarks on Attlee. I like the idea of a middle class young man going down to the East End and feeling he should help the people there. I saw an interview Churchill gave to an American reporter, in which he was asked to describe Attlee, and said he was ‘a sheep in sheep’s clothing’ which got loud laughter from the audience. He certainly seems an ‘ordinary guy’ likely to endear himself to us ordinary guys. One can understand the Americans, however, feeling that he is a poor substitute for the glamorous Churchill, as we feel Truman is no successor to Roosevelt.

  No, my darling, of course I am not fed up with your baby talk. Please carry on, thinking on paper, I am very anxious to know all you are doing and thinking. You never bore me, you always, ALWAYS, always delight me, my very own wonderful expectant one! I must see if I can get a book about bringing up a child, for although there are obviously good general reasons for thinking I shall do the job, with you, as well as anyone else, I am very keen that we shall do it a great deal better. Suppose it was TWINS! It might be better, I don’t suppose it is anywhere near double your expense. Bear this in mind when you are knitting, oh fruitful one, you never know! What a pity that I cannot knit, I could do the pants and you the vests.

  I love you.

  Chris

  2 February 1946

  My Darling Wife,

  I hope that by the time you get this, you will have been at 55* a few days and be fairly settled in, and very comfortable in your mind. I hope that, if you get the time, you will let me have a full account of the move, whether your Dad or Wilf came with you, whether you were allowed the privilege of a ride in the van, how that old well-packed wardrobe stood up to the journey, if anything was lost, and so on. It is not important but I’d like to feel the atmosphere. Then, later on, perhaps you’d send me a little description (and a plan!) of your bedroom at least (sorry my darling, our bedroom) and maybe the room where you’ll knit and eat and write to your loving husband (that’s me!). I’d like to be able to picture you in the right position.

  Have we got French windows or the ordinary pattern, dear? And what about an Air Raid shelter? I have thought rather unhappily about the stairs. I don’t suppose you will be able to get carpet, are you having to clatter up them on the bare boards whenever you need to go upstairs? Are you sleeping upstairs? I shall be interested (very, very interested) to hear all about your doings, and I hope you will be expansive about them.

  The break-up of the unit is proceeding and I should get a move before long. Strange how men behave. I have just heard that on the February leave one of our men did not go home till 8 p.m., as he suspected his wife. When he arrived home, she had a one-year-old in her arms. He patched it up, but my informant has now heard, rather enigmatically, that ‘George Jenkin’s wife has done it on him again’. ‘George’, by the way, was one of the worst chaps I’ve known for being unfaithful.

  I like all that you say about our need in the future to avoid becoming suburban married ‘types’. I think we have between us a good deal of commonsense, and that we really will succeed in retaining all the good parts of our earlier approaches to life. I am, therefore, very pleased you support my view on overtime, because there’s no doubt to my mind that most people are much too keen to get money, forgetting that its pursuit interferes with the joy of life.

  So you reckon it was the first time when ‘it happened’, do you? I don’t remember the day, does the doctor ask, or do you have to tell him approximately?

  Eat as well as you can, sleep as much as you can, keep as warm as you can.

  I love you.

  Chris

  9 February 1946

  Well, My Darling Bessie,

  Today was my DAY OFF, and off I went to Naples. I’m too pleased with myself, because tomorrow I shall take to the APO [Army Post Office] – a carpet! It cost 2,100 lira (£2 7s. 0d.), is a little smaller than a hearthrug, and will just do you for putting your beautiful feet upon when you get out of bed in the morning. Your beautiful feet – ah, my beautiful darling, wonder-one, I wish I could put my lips to them now. I love them, and every bit of you. You will be in a state of suspense until you get the carpet (registered) but I am quite sure you’ll be delighted with my purchase.

  I though
t while I had a chance, I would have my photograph taken (only 1s. 6d. for the two, now) and it is enclosed. Sorry I am no John Barrymore, my sweet. But at least you can have a good laugh at my tunic, how well it fits me, and you can admire(?) my medal display. I don’t wear medals, this was the first time today, as the Ities are inclined to think you are a Rookie if you walk around ‘nude’.

  Met a very woebegone Italian in Naples this morning. He had just come back to Italy from Shrewsbury, where he thought things were grand. Please write me plenty about the carpets, etc., when they arrive.

  I love you.

  Chris

  10 February 1946

  My Darling Wonderful Wife,

  Sunday afternoon. The shining sun. The very blue Bay of Naples scene before me. You in the same world – but miles and miles away.

  I can’t tell you how pleased I am with my carpet purchase. If I had had the money I should have bought two, but I happened to see it after my other purchases. I have already made up my mind to spend your £3 Postal Orders (when they arrive and unless you earmarked them for something else) on a carpet.

  Could you try and discover the kind of electric current we are on? I believe the voltage varies, and of course there is AC and DC. An enquiry at the showrooms is probably the best way. I was attracted (are you, please?) to an electric coffee pot, 15s. 6d., I saw in Naples. (But it was 150 watt, or something.)

  Do you know where the Postman comes from who delivers at OUR HOUSE? I suspect Croydon.

  I beg to report that I have just looked through your letters to note your colour scheme ideas which I hadn’t previously absorbed, as perhaps I should have done. Pink and primrose bedrooms. Rust and beige dining rooms. Don’t like blue, rather tired of green. I am sorry that the carpet has a lot of green in it, but anyway I am now warned against a light blue one they had.