26 August 1945

Sunday 26 Aug 7pm

Dear René,

I was delighted to hear from you again today, can’t imagine why I should be so lucky to receive so many charming letters from so nice a girl as you are, I just want to answer your queries by this rather brief air-mail, for I think you deserve a considerate reply, even if only because you so conscientiously write so regularly, it’s very kind of you and thoughtful and what you say is thoughtful too, more than I frankly deserve for my impudence! I’m so sorry if I hurt you at all, which I trust was not the case, glad you have a sense of humour too, but I quite deserve any bricks you might throw!

Sorry I was so miserable in my letter, I was rather morbid wasn’t I? As you so truthfully say René, and you are right in this respect, it’s not always right to look too far ahead. You are perfectly right by only living with a few days in advance. It’s quite wrong to take life for granted, and plan selfishly for the future. God, I’m sure, meant us to live each day as it comes, and not to look or try to foresee the future. We have to learn to trust God, don’t you think? Thank him for his provision each day, and the gifts he offers are given only at the right time. Though at one time I really wondered if I was making a mistake by writing as I do, not trusting enough. When a young boy I was always doing things which weren’t always the best saying “Oh, I thought so & so” and mother used to say “you’re always thinking & doing what you think”, but perhaps God allows for people’s peculiarities and their ‘thoughts’, if one really tries to do the right.

Sorry to hear you are so tired and worn out, you’ll have a good holiday at ‘Inglenook’, you need one I think, dear, dreary old Bristol!

Reading your letter again, I think I did ‘tease’ you unfairly, actually with so much in between, I can’t accurately remember what I said, it’s nearly a fortnight since I wrote, but always ‘pull me up’ if you don’t quite agree with me please René.

No, I know you are not the noisy, talkative type René, as I said in my letter of yesterday, I think you are just like your photo – gentle, quiet, and all a woman should be, anything else, well, I have to imagine the rest, I’m looking forward to the time when talking to you instead of writing will be the greater pleasure.

You rather did take my breath away, don’t, whatever you do, change your style of writing, I love the way you ramble on!! Seriously I do, and I promise to write as often as possible, with so agreeable a correspondent, how could I otherwise? I don’t really think that you are too comfortable at home to want to marry, not if you were really swept off your feet, or head! But being thoughtful is very wise, not rushing into anything you’re not quite sure of. I sincerely hope that you won’t marry the wrong fellow, who ever he is, at least being thoughtful about it does give me a ‘look in’ (says he, not realizing what he is writing, oh! I’m such a selfish brute).

Thanks, René, for going to have your photo taken soon, very considerate, and I can be patient if I want to be – who wouldn’t be, for you?

You wanted to know all about Perugia too, and I’ve filled the letter all with selfish remarks, I’ll send you a whole lot to look at, and you can think you’re over here too with me, can’t have a birthday with those sort of snaps. When is your birthday?

Day off today, saw all the old churches, tell you more later, it was good.

Seems near finis, thank you for all you said, you’re very sweet.

Cheerio for now, God bless you.

Yours very fondly

            Eric.

 

Ps. What’s the idea saying on Monday: -

            “Will write again at end of week”?

 Love to Auntie.

25 August 1945

25 Aug 45.

Dear René,

At long last, here I am with pen and paper quietly writing to you. I’m not exactly tucked away in a corner of God’s earth, as I would like to be, possibly away on a grassy bank beneath a shady hedge, as I can see through the open window stretching towards the foot of the distant hills: I am, instead, writing in our study room in barracks, wooden chairs and tables, very bare. However it’s fairly quiet, Saturday evening, most chaps either gone to pictures or a dance held up at the university, every Saturday, the usual ‘hop’ where fellows scramble to dance with what ATS girls are either on the course, or a mêlée of gushing Italian girls – ‘bright young things’ I heard an officer once describe them as. There’s only one other occupant in the room, conscientiously studying a subject. ‘That’s the rub’ (Shakespeare) if one wishes to do well it means occupying the spare hours we have (not many) for private study, instead of gallivanting off somewhere. That’s why I’ve not been writing so often here, to you, and hope you’ll understand the diminished mail, though you should have received three since I arrived, an air-mail written yesterday.

And now perhaps, after those few opening lines, I can settle down to the more serious business of answering your two delightful letters of this week. They really are beautiful letters, and I think, even if you aren’t ‘doing’ an English course, you have a lovely way of expression, so more’s the credit due to you – busy little conductress!!

I don’t know where to start, (I could almost begin that book with replies to all you have said) but will do my best, firstly though, I admire your description of Thorny Hill, that’s definitely worth a visit, and I am very interested too, in the trips you make, you seem very capable of getting about at your job, one which, I must say, I don’t envy you at all, wouldn’t like taking fares in a crowded bus, tho’ I’d enjoy the country runs very much.

Well, first letter first,

                        Aug 13,

Sorry about overtime, hardly fair, and tough on girls especially, or women! Did I thank you for the picture? Glad you re-discovered it, was it on the handlebars? Trust you obtain a good dress, sorry the coupons are so tight, was reading in ‘Union Jack’ that Stafford Cripps Minister of Production (?) isn’t at all popular with Britain’s women.

Was out for an hour today shop hunting, looking for photos of Perugia, looked in several shoe shops, they are as dear, or dearer than at home, and far inferior. The cheapest leather shoes were about 2500 lire, £6-0-5! Everything is very expensive, perhaps more plentiful, but it’s utility against overpricing.

What do you read René? As you say you like reading?

When are your holidays? The rest of them? Wouldn’t it be fun if I had ‘liap’ at the same time? That’s perhaps simple well wishing, don’t even know if I shall get drawn. The news was disappointing today, only ‘23s’ this year, from ‘home’ papers we had gleamed at least ‘26s’ by Christmas, it’s bad propaganda to put across the folks at home.

As a diversion, – have you heard about ‘Rome Sweet Rome’ published by ‘Manchester Guardian’ from this lady correspondent in Rome? There’s a veritable verbal battle raging in our papers at present between servicemen here about the lady’s impressions. She wrote that ‘The British tommy would miss this life of luxury, of waiters, hotels, band & ice cream’ etc etc: what an uproar she created!

The railways are not the least of Britain’s problems, what do you think of the A-bomb? Terrible, but it’s concentrated destruction, and shows more strikingly how wrong war is in any way.

Yes, it’s far better to take things quietly, life is most beautiful in quietness, I think, anyhow VJ day was one of thankfulness I think, deep gratitude.

We’ll both have lessons together, for I’ve not danced for ages, about three since leaving home, and hardly any before the war, not having a partner and consequently little enthusiasm, I’d hardly jitterbug, tho’ it must relieve one very much to become so involved in “letting off steam”, oh yes, have seen it on films.

Henry V is a very good show I hear, hope you enjoyed it, our English masters criticised it rather severely, said it wasn’t properly represented, the stage at that time. Do you like drama, theatre plays?

No, not American sisters, just plain, very ordinary English sisters, some alright, and some who think they are ‘it’, and ‘make up’ to officers! Silly I think.

Yes, sickness is indeed terrible, only those who suffer seem to know, which makes the necessity for kindness even greater.

Oh no! You wouldn’t really write to Harry would you? I shouldn’t sleep at all then.

‘Nights’ were very tedious, I’m feeling tons better, away from cookhouses.

Well, thanks for the compliment about Cary Grant, must try to get one with a smile, ‘a West Country smile’ as my letter said!

Now letter no. 2. Aug 15^th

We are all much happier now that the war is really over, should have loved to have strolled around Bournemouth with you and watched the celebrations, the coloured fountain, and waterfall, sounds interesting.

Must await return to unit to see about my leave, they told me I was due for another course on return: ‘Moral leadership’, but will give you the ‘guff’ (army word) on return. At most it seems as though there will be still a considerable number of letters to write yet René, before demob.

So the mystery name is solved at last! I like Irené very much, strange I hadn’t thought of that earlier, but the accent had me puzzled, but I think I’ll call you “Brown eyes”.

Have never been called ‘Riccy’, perhaps I’d grow to like it. My horrible nickname is “Busty’, (ugh!). That’s also from a film star. Someone, a bright office clerk tagged me once and it stuck, I’ve grown accustomed to it, everyone at the unit uses it, but I prefer Eric, or your pet version best.  Coming from leave it sounded very strange at first, obviously no-one calls me that at home, it’s purely nominal as, like yourself I am rather slim myself. I used to weigh 164lbs, but being abroad am about 156 now, 5-11½, blue eyes, fair hair, not a tanned complexion (that’s worn off now), rather pale in fact, for your information, thanks, for your description too, have now only to meet you in person, soon I hope.

The mail seems to be coming through alright now: yours arrived yesterday (15^th) 24^th, nine days, four days from the unit. Better when they come direct, would suggest you stop writing direct to me here after next weekend 1^st Sept; and write to 95^th again, that will prevent delay. No, air-mail and ordinary letters both come by air so just write ordinary letters please.

Your company don’t seem very considerate about paying for extra hours, rotten spirit that, I see you prefer the single deckers, no wonder.

So you relished the food as per menu! Perhaps with persuasion, you might (?) find me cooking your dinner, but on the condition I don’t get blamed for using all the rations, I am very ‘heavy handed’ and use tons of stuff.

A catering officer prescribes the menu; we growl and do the work. Night duty ends at six am, when the early shift begins. Italians wash up, and do the dirty work, fortunately for us. The army employs thousands of them, for office work (interpretation) cleaning etc.

Didn’t you feel rather ‘out of things’ ie. Rather lonely, on VJ night? But you are not a ‘noisy’ type are you? Did the company give you a holiday? Did you see the fountain? And waterfall?

Oh yes, the mayor’s letter was quite a surprise, the first I knew was Dad’s letter saying how one night going home by bus his eye alighted on the middle page, mother was very ill in hospital at the time and was very excited, she always thought that I would get compassionate leave and always expected to see me, in fact the vicar’s wife told her near the end that I was on my way and so she passed away in that thought, the following day.

Well now, about this ‘ere fishing! Don’t know what Dad’s been spinning to you, he loves to spin tales, but it really was funny: -

            We went for a swim as usual. The spot being at the pier’s end, where the rocks shelve steeply into the water, the sea is very deep there. Suddenly, just when we are prepared to dive in, a loud explosion shakes the concrete under our feet. The direction of the explosion obstructs the view so we cannot tell what is happening. Running around the lighthouse we see a naval launch twenty yards out, sailors leaning over the gunwale, raking the sea. All about are fish, dozens, of stunned, floating fish, with muddy bubbles surrounding. The performance is repeated, only now the launch is on ‘our’ side of the promenade. Diving in, we swim out and like dogs, only not in our mouths, we retrieve the fish. When about to scramble ashore, ‘Jock’ who has a large specimen in his arm, is being confronted by an eager Italian who offers him 500 lire (1-5-0) for his catch, not being an exception to the Scotch case, jock clinches the bargain there and then. It’s the first sale in water he has ever made in his life, with true comradeship ‘Jock’ shares the money and we have 100 apiece.

This was the only sale we made, being so large a fish. The others, and there were dozens, we gave away to the small crowd by this time gathered inquisitively around, did you ever know an Italian who wasn’t either hungry or curious? The whole episode was very exciting by the unusualness of it, yet the canoe in which I took an Italian soldier out to retrieve the farther ones, nearly capsized, I can still picture his look of dismay, and relief as we settled again.

There you are René, all for you, not very good, but well meant anyway. As an aftermath or anti climax, – following day “Fishing by means of depth charges is strictly forbidden”! And now the Italians talk of the ‘wonder’ catch one afternoon, as they sit sighing at their nets, waiting for the solitary bite!

Grammar not very good, tenses a little confused, please excuse me.

I’m going to be very busy when I do come home, writing, telling tales (by the way the above is authentic) visiting friends, seeing you, shan’t have much time ‘off’ shall I?

Haven’t said anything about the course, it’s all study, mostly lectures, taking notes, discussions etc: one interesting feature is ‘Anniversary’ every morning at 9 o’clock, great men’s lives on their anniversary dates is given in a talk for 10 mins. I’ve made notes about it all so will be able to show you and explain in detail.

There are about twenty in the English class (syndicates they’re called), all men, officers, sergeants, all mixed, and one ATS. We have two instructors and they cover a great deal. We work to a timetable, and there are numerous aspects of literature, I’ve a whole pile of notes and texts.

My guard was alright, as guards go, 2-4 this morning, I tried to count all the sounds I heard, cocks crowing, dogs barking, wind creaking wires & doors, someone snoring, a horse & cart far away, a church bell, crickets and that’s about all. I yawned all day! Glad we have the weekend free. Tomorrow there’s a church tour so shan’t really have much time to laze about doing nothing.

I do hope you are keeping well and cheerful, how’s Auntie?

Don’t take any notice of my rude remarks about your letters, will you René? Promise?

I’m looking forward to your photo, had it done yet? I’m waiting patiently, like a good boy.

I’ll write again about Wednesday, I know I shall be very busy early next week with my own talk to prepare for Tuesday.

Look after yourself

Keep cheerful,

Looking forward to your letters very much indeed, ‘Brown eyes’

affectionately, Eric.

Love and best wishes to Auntie.

“Riccy”!

Hope you like the snaps, different from Tuckton and Durley?

Thought the cutting from ‘Union Jack’ would interest you.

19 Aug 1945

Course 14

Army School of Education,

Perugia, Italy

Sunday 19^th Aug.

Dear René,

How’s my pen friend in Bournemouth keeping very well, bright and gay? I hope so, and finding plenty to do in off duty hours, not working too hard on the ‘boneshakers’?

I am at last here, in Perugia. Left my unit at 2 o’clock on Thursday, arrived here yesterday at midday. Two days to cover roughly a hundred miles! The trouble was, and I met two other fellows in the same boat; (or train) that we were mis-informed by an RTO (military police at the stations) and went too far. So consequently were ten hours delayed in reaching our changing station. You should have seen us riding ‘hobo’ on timber wagons! Just like these wild west films, only it wasn’t a bit heroic! Anyhow we eventually ‘made it’, and here we are, all ready for the course to begin tomorrow.

Perugia is a very quaint old place, dates from medieval days. The streets are winding and narrow with grey, drab stone buildings, overhanging, and hundreds of steps! It’s built on a hill, of many, and right on top there’s the old church, with beautiful stained glass windows, I was inside last night with a Palestinian corporal whom I palled up with. It must be at least eight hundred years old, the walls are strengthened with iron bars, expect you know the kind, but we’ve a church that old in Bristol and not nearly as old and decrepit looking.

The university isn’t much better either from the exterior, but better able to judge tomorrow inside. Our billets, ‘Adam House’ is down in the village, a big building with dormitories and beds. (H’m) When I get home am going to make a two tier bed, with hard wooden racks, and sleep on the top one, six feet high (I don’t think). Gosh! I nearly rolled off during the night, shall have to stay awake tonight to watch that I don’t. The food is very good, Italians wait on us, so for the army it’s not too bad.

There’s a suspicion of red tape for I heard a nasty large bird whisper something about guard duties and blanco. So if not swotting perhaps I’ll be standing outside wiv “a rifle”, keeping small boys away from picking up cig-ends etc.

Saw “Marriage is a private affair” at the local cinema last night, Lana Turner, it wasn’t bad, I enjoyed it, and there’s a good moral if you see it, tho’ its definitely not a first class film, a love triangle affair which ends typically American-ishly happily. (Which if isn’t bad grammar I’ll eat my hat).

I went to church at 7.45 this morning, up bright and early before the other chaps and the church is ten minutes walk. It was a sunny morning, plenty of people about too, passed a queue of women & children outside some shop, possible for bread or milk. The bells, oh! You don’t know what Italian bells are! They start about 5am: not just one, solitary bell, oh no! at least three, of inharmonious tones, banging away, for 5 minutes? Oh no, all the morning, with intervals, probably to cool the bells off. So –, here I am in Perugia, “Ye olde Italian university town”, all set for a splash at English. I expect that sounds funny to you, the army going to school, but one never knows what the army will do next, perhaps they’ll even send us home!

The mail hasn’t yet come through, it probably will be a couple of days, and so means a fistful to reply.

I do hope you and Auntie are both very well, and life going well. How’s Joan & husband? & May?

I’m not going to call you ‘Dearest Renie’, etc, as my last letter began. You may resent that, goodness knows what you think about me for such colossal cheek! I hope not too badly. Anyway, the real reason is, that it won’t do to grow too sentimental in writing thus to you. It wouldn’t be fair, and it would probably upset you very much if you discovered on meeting me, you didn’t like me a bit. I read of an RAF chap who grew very fond of a girl and at the last moment changed his ideas, and the poor girl was so worried and upset that she lost weight and became nearly ill. I suppose there are girls who take things lightly, and fellows too, but anyhow I wouldn’t like to be the cause of so great unhappiness. It’s so important for the right people to meet and the danger is so great for single persons to make mistakes in impatience, to regret at leisure. That’s the way I feel about it, more especially with us, for although we have met, it’s so long ago as not to have made any true reason for considering ourselves otherwise. How do you look at things, or maybe it hasn’t struck you that way yet? I really can’t remember you very well, although sometimes I believe I do. Dad says you are something like Gwen, so you are rather tall, my guess is your hair is dark, am I right? With possibly brown eyes, big brown eyes, and that’s as far as I’ve got, except that you have a beautiful face, not glamorous, but so gentle, and patient.

You’ll probably think me an awful chump, and very self-willed, as that’s a very bad fault, I hope I’m not. Do you still wear your hair amid ships? You know, straight down the middle?

It’s nearly tea-time, I had intended to write Auntie, perhaps I may be able to.

Will write later on in the week, if not too sick of writing and English, tho’ I don’t think it’s as bad as that here, I usually, always feel keen to write to you tho’ not always the opportunity.

Best wishes for now,

Eric.    X.

Love to Auntie.

15 Aug 1945

Dearest Renie,

I hope you won’t object to such a “claiming” beginning.

I haven’t very long to write to you tonight, had potatoes to cut up for a salad for 200, and thought I’d never get through, its just 2 o’clock which gives me roughly an hour, and that’s not long enough to write to you. I’m being sent tomorrow instead of Saturday on my course, wasn’t writing ‘till tonight to you, but can’t leave without saying a few words to you: wouldn’t rest in the train! I do hope you aren’t cross with me after some of the things I said in my last letter, are you, truthfully, Renie? I expect you think I’m such a conceited and proud sort of chap, and I don’t want you to think that, I don’t think I am really, and I do hope more than anything, that it won’t make any difference to your letters for I love the things you say and wouldn’t like you to alter or stop writing the way you do. Perhaps I do own some funny ways and you may not agree with me in lots of things, promise you won’t stop writing naturally please Renie?

I’ve been looking at your photo again, I always am, and I admire you immensely, where was it taken? You never told me. Are you still as gentle looking? I think you’re fine and ‘fine’ means a whole lot to me. I am looking forward so much to meeting you, we have so many things to do too haven’t we? Don’t forget, there’s the cathedral, pictures, perhaps a dance (if you want to) and anything else you wish, or want to go to. If I am lucky enough to get leave, that would be fine too, I’d be down to see you alright.

In one of your last letters you said there weren’t any cows, so am sending you half a dozen!! So perhaps that means a box on the ears when you see me!

Didn’t get up until 6.30 yesterday, nearly slept the clock around, they then told me I was off tomorrow, but had to work tonight as usual. Shall try to get a few hours sleep in the morning, after packing, saying ‘cheerio’ to my pals etc: have to go by train, not over the mountains as I thought, it’s just beyond Florence, pretty spot in the hills, but more about it when I arrive there.

Will you write direct for a few weeks: -

Pte. Crabb, RAMC, Course 14, U.E.ls, Army School of Education, Perugia, Italy.

And I’ll let you know when to change again.

I loved your last two letters, there’s a lot to answer in them, but oh dear, I haven’t the time tonight.

Oh yes, (your last letter), I jolly well hope you won’t invent an excuse for not writing so much Renie, a very bad thought! Very bad.

What about the photo? I really believe you’re a little bit shy! Really Renie. Since spelling your name Renie, you’ve reverted to René, now look here, which one of you two am I writing to? Do you write René when on 3 hours “spread over” duty to save time. Very nice of you, if you do, to squeeze in an extra letter, you’re like Gwen who spells her name Crabbe, actually wrong, because she prefers the e, aren’t girls funny?

Have you been to any more shows recently? Do you read very much? Do you like poems? And short stories? I was looking at a “True Life” mag. The other day, gosh! Aren’t some of those stories ‘soft’, honestly, the romance book I mean, expect you know it, you don’t like ‘soft’ stories do you?

I don’t seem to be progressing very fast tonight, my brain seems to be in a whirl, strange how one’s thoughts get jumbled up at night. If I was asleep now, I think I’d be dreaming of all sorts of things, usually I sleep very well, don’t get enough tho’, as we are early risers, always wake up very sleepy in these climates. Feel like a bad night’s nightmare or a bus conductress’s early morning! I bet you feel sleepy too on your early shift, don’t you? Are your eyes all tired too? Oh dear, at this rate, my impudent remarks, you will have such a lot to take me to account for, but I think I’ll rather enjoy it!

How’s Auntie Kitty? Is she keeping well? Please give her my love and best wishes, and I’m looking forward to her next letter, when she isn’t too busy.

Interruption here, had to make a cup of tea for one of the orderlies who dropped in for a chat, but he’s nearly fallen asleep on the form, and I’ve no time for chatting at present!

If you won’t be too annoyed with me for my cheek, I am cheeky am I not? Will you make paragraphs to your letters ‘cos you write so many things all in one paragraph. Starting off with one thing about yourself, and ending up about the buses! Even tho’ you are connected in a way, I think there’s a world of difference between yourself and the bus, and you are definitely worth a paragraph to yourself, even if you won’t write a complete letter about yourself when I wouldn’t expect paragraphs. Perhaps it’s because you have so much to say, and so quickly, that you don’t remember to make a pause, don’t forget I’m going on an English course and will be a very severe critic (says he) when I come back, but don’t take any notice of me if that’s going to cramp your style, I like you, not a copy book. I am now prepared to duck, as the bricks come my way!

It seems, very unfortunately, that my time is up, now 3.30. I hate to stop, I love writing to you, especially now you don’t think I’m ‘silly’, don’t please, take any notice of my remarks, as they aren’t meant to hurt, and only because I’m too sleepy to think of anything better to say. I don’t think I’d fall asleep over your letters, only afterwards, with the thought of work to do, or exhaustion!

You know I’ll write to you Renie, as often as I can, I don’t know when I’ll have a chance again, perhaps later this weekend.

Keep well and cheerful, write when you are able, I’m always ready to hear from you.

Goodbye for now, God bless you always

My love, Renie,

affectionately,

Eric x.

12 Aug 1945

Dearest Renie,

Monday at 2am! What an hour to choose for writing! However it’s my only spare time this weekend, and I’ll try not to fall asleep over it!

I hope you are keeping well, not letting long working hours tire you out too much, eating well and not waiting too long in queues for anything.

Don’t know what’s wrong with the mail this week, they are certainly hanging us about; no mail from you for about five days, it seems ages; even poor old Harry, hasn’t heard from his wife for three weeks, and is properly browned off. No doubt it’s because the nearer aerodromes are shut down, so we’ll just have to be patient, how is it at your end? Usually much better going out than coming in.

By the time this reaches you, I’ll probably be on my way to Perugia, that’s next Saturday. My English course has eventually come through, I’m quite keen to go, and looking forward to getting away for a month or so. They say it’s very nice there; the army has taken over the university for its education scheme, one of the best in Italy. Bologna owns another. Our education officer says they ‘put you through it’, but I’m not afraid of that, it will be a change to study instead of the dull routine of a kitchen. Write as usual won’t you Renie? Your letters will be forwarded on, in a day or so difference, and I’m sure to find somewhere quiet, even tho’ it won’t be a kitchen, to write to you. I hope my letters are coming through OK.

Are you very busy? Tell me more about yourself, seen any good shows? And is it still very hot, and too many visitors? How’s the painting going? I’ll wager anything, that you haven’t done a stroke towards it? What you need at ‘Devonia’ is a strong useful cousin to take those jobs in hand! I’m very good at those sort of jobs, for about an hour, then I like the rest of the day off, while the paint dries!

What sort of garden have you? Don’t tell me, full of overgrown weeds, and last year’s cabbage all gone to seed? And just one or two poor little flowers? You must think me very sarcastic.

Well Renie, there isn’t really very much to write about, nothing much has happened since I last wrote. My first week has flown by, had quite a surprise yesterday morning to realize it was Sunday, so I had to stay up until nine as I wanted to attend communion. Am ashamed to say, I didn’t know what the collect, or gospel was about, I was so tired, was trying to keep wide awake but wonder I didn’t fall asleep over my prayer book, wonder why one’s mind wanders so much when very tired, perhaps it’s the thought of bed at the back of the mind that keeps leading one’s thoughts astray.

We have a new padre, the one from Bournemouth has gone away. The new one appears to be very decent, but he has gone on ‘liap’ today. About twenty fellows went today, so that’s roughly 50 from the unit on leave. The ‘local’ week’s leave has been stopped; there wouldn’t have been enough fellows to work in the hospital. Twenty sisters went yesterday, volunteered for India, but as the Jap war looks like ending soon they may not go.

We thought the far East war was really over, this week. In fact several chaps were drunk on the strength of it, they drink for any pretext, today even, several were tight, because their pals went on leave, nice brotherly feelings, but why on Earth they have to get so drunk beats me, I hate to see it. Thank God that’s not one of my weaknesses, it is a rotten thing. We had a little cook, he had a little moustache and looked like Hitler, who always had a bottle tucked away somewhere, and was constantly missing in the scullery, with head up and vino down, quite an agreeable chap, but always in a cafe, he was good natured too, not bad like some are, and would do anyone a good turn, he always stuttered when tight, as though his brain couldn’t work quickly enough. You may think I live in bad company Renie, but on the whole they are very decent fellows, we all get on well together. Little ‘Mac’ is bow legged and about five feet tall, when its fried eggs for breakfast I put a box for him to stand on! And he takes it in very good fun.

We have had some laughs too, as well as our ‘slavery’, in Africa. Our last Christmas there, I believe every cook was absolutely drunk, even the night cooks were frying eggs and giving them to everybody! The only ‘bad’ incident was a Scotchman who became annoyed and began to throw 7lbs tins of margarine about! We had to put him outside to sleep it off. ‘Pop’, an old boy of nearly fifty, with a big tummy, used to get tighter and tighter and gradually slip off his chair on to the floor, I caught him many times only just in time! Talk of Wallace Beery in his ‘bad men’ films, that’s nothing to our ex-cooks, most of them are away with other units now, and we have a respectable crowd now.

Poor old ‘Pop’, though, I slept in his tent for a while, he talked himself to sleep and during the night would hear imaginary noises and rats in his bed, and wake the whole place up in his confusion.

One last word about cooks, when little ‘George’ was drunk, he ground his teeth in the most alarming manner, just as though he was eating bottles. He’s discharged now, and back in England. He was drunk on the train, someone saw him in Rome, he was still drunk, he has a very young wife about twenty, poor kid, she will have a bad time if he continues like it.

‘Mickey’, my old sergeant, now home in Belfast, a butler-chef, in civvy life, was my pal, he wrote this week, we were together in France with the BEF, and I remember him cooking fowls for the officers as we retreated via Dunkerque. He’s 48, nearly bald but quite a gentleman, never swore until he was made a sergeant when he seemed to go a bit like the rest, but eventually came to his senses. He made friends with everybody, even with the Italians. He was extremely popular, as with the French in Africa, one could see him giving out with a little bit of something tucked away in his tunic, a severe risk to take, but he was always lucky, or blessed! So I expect you hope I won’t be made a sergeant if they all swear, eh?

‘Harry’ is about my best friend now. He’s genuine, and very kind, but very noisy and sometimes rough. He always has too much to say, we are always telling him so, and sometimes the things he says are a bit hurtful, when however you tell him this, he says “Oh well! The truth always hurts”! So what can you do with a fellow like that? He’s very clever at making anal noises, and keeps us in fits sometimes. We now have two Indian cooks, both coal black, one has a double thumb with two nails, in their white coats they look very funny, they look up to Harry as the ‘big white chef’ which we think very funny too. Some of the Indian patients are Moslems, this month is ‘Ramavin’ (something like that) they only eat after sundown, so for a month the orderlies find them very troublesome. We seem to be having quite a number of ‘psycho’ Indians in lately, and they have to be drugged at night because they would otherwise keep every other patient awake. One of them got out of the ward and was wandering around the passages in his pyjamas looking for ‘Maynga’, the kitchen! Perhaps he was hungry.

There haven’t been so many accidents lately. A yank came in with concussion tonight, the first for several nights. The other night an officer drove 180 miles to visit a sister here, 360 miles for his girl, he must have been very fond of her. That’s what an officer can do, couldn’t do it on the basic ration at home! We have a Russian girl in one of the wards but haven’t been able to see her, believe she’s only 15, goodness knows what she is doing here. The sergeant, I told you about says he’s going to marry the Italian girl, well, perhaps he knows best, but I think there are still some worthwhile girls at home, isn’t that so?

It’s now nearly four, have been writing for nearly an hour and a half, must dash around now to finish my night’s work, catching the post at 8 o’clock.

Please give my love to Auntie, looking forward very much to your next letter, to hear how you are, and so – - keep smiling, don’t work too hard,

With fondest love,

Eric