by Chris Barker
Well, I am sorry about the red carpet. When I first saw it, I thought ‘This would be good for the kitchen’, but the more I thought, the better I valued it. But you have spoken: ‘The moth’. Wouldn’t it do for cutting up? Of course, I am not ‘hurt’ by the prospect of it going in the kitchen.
Yes, Brighton was very wonderful, and although sometimes it seems so very long ago, there are times when I know it was only yesterday, and that tomorrow we shall be together again, just the same. Oh, it was such a grand period of no restraint, no repression; of the flow and interflow of our inner selves. It was wonderful to be able to express ourselves, with mind and with the flesh. We had loved each other for so long, it was such a relief to be able to say so. I enjoyed every moment I was with you, and I know I will always do so. Your lovely voice; your intelligence; the breathtaking beauty of your lovely body – oh! It was not because I was tired that I slept better when with you than I have done since I joined the Army. It was because you are my home.
I hope I shall be able to do some of the wood in the shed; did you enquire about the gas poker, chico, or don’t you fancy it?
I love you.
Chris
1 April 1946
My Darling,
I am sorry that you have to go through a depressing recital of other people’s matrimonial troubles when you go to the Clinic. I think people must want a job when they retail their husband’s defects to more or less strangers, even though they are fellow expectants. What you have heard confirms my earlier observations that the war has been a very acceptable break from monotony for some husbands and wives. It is true that husbands will have changed –the mere process of growing does that – but I think some of the change will be imagined by the wife, who has probably invested her husband’s shadow with all sorts of virtues that he never really had.
I have just read Sex Problems of the Returning Soldier by Kenneth Howard, with a foreword by Rev Leslie Weatherhead. It is very good and sound, so far as I can judge. Amongst the points made is that of the welcome break that Army life is in some marriages; it says that married couples must develop the ‘us’ to be successful, and that then children may well follow. It says that jealousy is very understandable, as the other partner desires passionately to completely possess the other.
On my own little problem, it says that there is a saying ‘99% of men have practised masturbation at some time, and the other 1% are liars.’ It is not harmful unless done several times a day over long periods. The married man away from home may wake to discover he has unconsciously been doing so. The return to a natural life will eliminate the problem. He says that impotence (which he defines as inability to secure and maintain erection) is not unusual either, at first, in marriage or upon return, but is usually overcome with normality. If not, medical advice should be taken. The underlying purpose of the book is to show that the other partner to a marriage must study carefully the needs and ‘likes’ of the other. That, if one enters a trade, one studies for it, and that to successfully live happily with another person for 40 or 50 years, one must study similarly. I don’t think I can manage to send it to you, but it is worth reading.
Our case is rather different from those who have been used to married life before the war. We do start, as you say, practically from scratch. I feel that between us we have gone a long way towards the ‘US’, and that our intelligence will enable us to meet the challenges fairly well. I wanted also to say that a lot of chaps leave the Army as Army types’, they are loud-voiced, unthoughtful, and exhibitionist. I am little touched by my short stay in the Army and feel that I have lost hardly any of the civilian graces, and that within a short time of kicking off my Battle Dress I will be ready for
[Incomplete]
5 April 1946
I went to a Variety Show the night before last. There was a tough guy who put horseshoes (examined by soldiers on the stage) in his mouth, between his teeth, and with his hands broke them in half! (Brute.) A magician who produced doves from nowhere and made them disappear into nothing (also a Brute). The name of the show was ‘The Get-Atoms’, but it wasn’t that almost indecent title that attracted me. It was the guest artiste, whom I had never seen in person, and thought I would like to – and there I was, second row of the stalls, about four yards along from – Gracie Fields. She was dressed in a dark blue lace gown, very well made up. She sang bags of songs, medleys, ‘Christopher Robin’, ‘Ave Maria’, ‘Sally’, ‘My Hero’, and I thought was very good. She had her own pianist, a great player; was presented with a bouquet. I thought of her after the show gliding back over the sea to Capri, so near. I am glad I went. The rest of the ‘artistes’ were quite poor, and the comedians were low. Perhaps one joke will appeal to you. A lady had a ride on a camel in the zoo, but it threw her off, and bolted with lightning speed down the road. The keeper asked what she had done to it, and she replied ‘Only tickled its belly.’ ‘Well,’ said the keeper, ‘you’d better tickle mine, because I’ve got to get the blooming thing back.’
I can get boxes of Kleenex tissues here, by the way. Would you like any?
I love you.
Chris
I suggest something like this:
THE REGIONAL DIRECTOR, LPR, GPO, EC1
Sir,
Class ‘B’ Releases – CC and Ts
55 Ellesmere Drive, Sanderstead, Surrey.
I have heard from a friend in the Post Office that the Min. of Labour has agreed that certain Counter Clerks with three months to serve shall be released from the Forces under Class ‘B’.
I am anxious that my husband’s claim to such a release shall not be overlooked, and would be glad if you would note the following details in respect of him.
Army Rank, etc.:
Unit: ITALY.
Former District:
Date of Enlistment:
Date of Embarkation:
A/S Group No.: 14232134 SIGMN. BARKER H.C. 11 L.
of C. Signals (attached 15 BAPO CMF), Eastern.
His release would be most helpful at home, as I am expecting a baby in July. With thanks,
Yours truly,
B.I. Barker
9 April 1946
My Dearest,
We must put aside a little money for some ‘must-haves’ in the household equipment line. Perhaps a couple of chairs, an odd table, glassware, curtains, lino, it might be anything like that but probably wouldn’t be all of them. I suggest £20 as the amount to mentally set aside for that.
Then there’s Janet – C. I haven’t really much idea of the kind of expenses likely to be incurred under this heading. I imagine clothes will not call for much expense the first year (which is what we are thinking of), but that they’ll about bankrupt us the next few. But I expect the cot to cost £5 and the pram to cost similarly, £5. Certainly not much more or less. And I think we must add £20 for a rubber sheet to the cot, for clothing, etc, making £30 in all. So,
Janet – C. £30
Clothes £35
Furniture etc. £20
Rates, bills, etc. £15
Making a total of £100
I had letters yesterday from Deb, Mum, Rosie, amongst others. Deb wonders if the atom bomb has caused the fine weather? Mum’s – well, the same as ever. She actually said about Bert, ‘He got rid of me’, which is just about the limit, I thought.
In an American mag I believe I sent you, I thought another limit had been reached: they were advertising electrically heated blankets, ‘just switch on a few minutes before bedtime’. A model announced for the spring was one which allowed the wife to heat her side a different temperature from the husband’s! Blow me!
I love you.
Chris
21 April 1946
Darling, Most Wonderful, Dear and Beautiful One,
The Class B has come through and soon we will be together. I have spent many hours trying to think up a better opening than that, but how could I improve on such a beautiful, wonderful blurt? The first thing to tell you is: please stop writing. (Be
tter sit down, if you are not already seated, and just think how grand it will be not to write, write, write for the rest of time.)
It being Easter, I shall be a little delayed in getting away, but I do feel there is quite a chance of me getting home in the week commencing May 5th. There is the usual Army uncertainty. It seems a long while to wait, but I shall be able to write you daily and tell you where I am.
I think I shall go by rail, stopping at Milan a few days. When I get to England I believe I have to go to Thirsk, and then to Guildford. It all takes time. Please do not alter your habits until you get a telegram from me (which I will send from Dover) telling you I am in England. Then it will only be a few days before we are together, before I am happy. Oh, I cannot write what I feel!
Please take it steady. The first point to clearly understand is that you have no need to stop going out until my telegram arrives. Then, well, you can stay in, but do go out for half an hour or so if necessary. This is where you demonstrate your good sense: for the second point is that I don’t want you to sweat yourself out getting things ship-shape, putting up the curtains, and so on.
There will be tons and tons more of ‘what to do’s coming from me before I finally come up the path.
Our plans have been subject to much alteration ever since we loved – and dared to have plans. This alteration is very wonderful, and I am grateful for it. We shall be together now for always, and these next months, which might have been so wretched apart, will be wonderful together. How can I stop my quaking when I consider that so soon I will be breathing the same air as you, that I will be smelling you, seeing you, hearing you, loving you. Darling, my dearest one, our long, long apartness is about to end. Thank you for the courage you have shown, the pluck with which you have borne your little fate. It will not be long before we are in each other’s arms; before we are having a cup of cocoa and going to bed together. With what gladness and gratitude and pride of ownership will I watch you UNDRESS; with what delight and relief will I welcome you to the warming sheets, with what ecstasy will I take you to me.
Do try hard not to be too excited. But isn’t it GORGEOUS that your vigil at home will last three months only, and that we have not only the home, but that we will be in it TOGETHER, and at this time. Soon, soon, soon, my lips will offer my love and gratitude to you, and my hands their allowance.
Dearest, Loveliest Woman, I am yours. I love you.
Chris
21 April 1946
Well, my Darling,
I hope you are by now taking well the really tremendous news that we are to be reunited, that soon you will not be getting any more letters, but be getting me instead. The idea that I really am coming home will take a little getting used to, but by the time I do arrive, you will have accomplished that mental leap forward, and be ready.
In a very true sense we shall be starting to live. It is really wonderful to allow one’s thoughts to go to London Bridge station, to Sanderstead, to the bus; to you, and life with you. Please let me be your lover first and everything else second. And it is for always.
I would like to mention a few odd points, to keep in line with things prosaic: I have asked Doug to go ahead with the three mirrors. He insists on paying for the bathroom one. So the other two will cost us £3 4s. I shall be collecting them, isn’t life grand?
Mum asks me if you would like a pastry board. She would be glad for you to have hers. We’ll discuss this.
Tra la la.
I sent a box home today containing some odds and ends: I put on it ‘PERSONAL EFFECTS OF RELEASED SOLDIER’.
I love you.
Chris
22 April 1946
Dearest One,
I don’t know how I shall react to civilian life; it is four years since I left it and it may shake me. I know you will help the process of getting used to it, by telling me what has to be done. Then, even before the Army took me in, I was deficient in many things. I have a lot to learn in all sorts of ways, and I hope you are going to see that I learn them. I can well understand that things I do at present, you would prefer that I didn’t. Please do tell me what they are, as they arrive, or as I do them. I want to be the perfect husband, and I know jolly well I have precious few qualifications at present! It’s up to you to do some grafting.
I should be able to immediately help, as maybe the stair cloth will come shortly, and I can help put it down. I suppose we will need stair rods, but they may not be obtainable.
I shall be able to do anything at all heavy so very easily. We should have very few worries, and money will not really be one of them, though it is a pity we haven’t a few hundred pounds more. I hope your ‘bulge’ will not impede our hugging.
Later. I don’t and can’t know at what hour I shall get home, please don’t be at the station, or waiting at the bus stop, or anything like that. Sometimes after arriving in England chaps take a week to get home, others only two days. Just go about normally till you get my telegram, and after that, well, you can go out for a little shopping but not to Croydon, I suggest.
A better man than me would probably arrange to arrive in ‘civvies’, but I shall arrive in the garb which seems most convenient. I will get the uniform off a few minutes after arrival, and put on my corduroys and whatever else is handy. I shall also probably have a bath, just to test OURS out!
Won’t it be wonderful to sit at the same table and watch the other eating?
I LOVE YOU.
Chris
23 April 1946
DEAREST,
Thank you for the SOON-TO-BE-SEEN room layout. The answer to your query ‘Are you living in it?’ is – I SOON WILL BE! The reply to your suggestion that we go to bed upon my return is: ‘LET’S!’ But, really, it will be so much better than before. In October, I had you warm and grateful in my arms for such a little while, and then we had to go and sit with your Dad in the sitting room.
Pouffes – I’ve got an idea – if they let me keep my kitbag, couldn’t you make a pouffe out of it. Colour it, and pad it?
How are you getting on without writing to me? You will save a good few hours between now and my return – spend it knitting, my darling. And don’t crochet a whacking big ‘WELCOME HOME’ sign, there’s a good girl. I know I’m welcome!
I WANT YOU. I LOVE YOU.
Chris
25 April 1946
Darling I Am Soon To Meet,
Well, I have made the first move, and am now writing from Lammie Transit Camp, a few miles from Naples. So far I have only been here an hour, got my meal ticket, a tent number, and have secured a bed. I am with eight others, all Class ‘B’, most builders. My original estimate of ‘home sometime week beginning May 5th’ still seems good, but it looks as though it will be towards the end of the week.
I don’t want to have breakfast any morning, dear. I want us to stop in bed till ten o’clock as we did at 27, and then have a slice of bread and jam. I want to be in bed with you, not only in sleepy understanding and greeting of the night, but in happy realisation of hailing the new day. Oh, to kiss your dear dear lips again, to speak and be spoken unto. My dearest, I love you with all my heart and mind. My strength is yours, for all of it derives from you, rests with you.
I love you.
Chris
27 April 1946
My Dear Wife,
I have just heard a rumour, pretty authentic, that Derby beat our team after extra time. Hard luck. How pleased my Dad would have been at the result. There will be many sad hearts in London tonight, and I expect a lot of money changed hands.
Did you see the Grand National on the films? I thought it was a real scandal, like a blood sport, to expect those horses to do so much. Only six finished the course, and at least one had to be shot.
28.4.46 Sunday today, and all being well we shall get away from here tomorrow. So this is our last Sunday in Italy. There is a faint chance I may actually be landing in England next Sunday, which would suit me very well. I shall be happier when I get away from Naples, and actually
get on my way to you.
What do you think of the idea of advertising my boots, shirts, battle dress at reasonable prices, and for the equivalent number of coupons? Would we get any takers? If so, I am all for it, as it would very conveniently dispose of them.
I shall only send short notes from now, I think. I am tired today and want the hours to rush till tomorrow night when we leave Naples. Then, every mile will bring me nearer to you, to home, to life. Dearest, this is a strain, this waiting, isn’t it? By the time I get to you, I shall be really washed out.
My Wife, I love you.
Chris
29 April 1946
Dear One,
And now it is Monday.
It is 8.30 and the list of those who are leaving today goes up at 10.30, so I have two hours to fret away before knowing the best or the worst. No one knows beforehand, and our computations are based on hope rather than knowledge.
I have just been to the office to enquire about pay (and unsuccessfully), and heard that 42 of the 53 ‘B’ Releases here are leaving tonight. I am almost certain to be in this lot, so thank goodness I shall at last be travelling in the direction I want to go. Tonight and tomorrow night I shall be sleeping on the floor of the railway truck, dirty, uncomfortable – and HAPPY. I have a lot to go through before I see you again, my dear, but providing I keep moving, I shan’t mind. It’s hanging around which is terrible. Like you now, having to hang around, doing nothing special.
The list is up, and I am on it. Hurrah! Away at last. I shall soon be having my final shower before leaving here, a late shave so that I need not shave on the journey. I shall be getting a little bag with my rations in it, and putting my kitbag out to be collected. And then an early tea, to wait two hours at the station before the train goes. I know the routine well. I have imagined myself doing this for a long time.
