by Chris Barker
You would be glad of the ‘drying winds’ out here. They are terrific. I, too, look forward to the day when you’ll be ironing my shirts. I don’t know how ‘heavy’ I am on clothes. Darned socks, the trouser bottom where it touches the shoe, and frayed cuffs are the only repairs I can think of offhand. You should see my darns nowadays! Great big lumps of wool, but they never seem to hurt me, so they must be OK.
I was delighted to get some idea of your dresses, though it will take me some time to assimilate them. Sometimes will you tell me what you are wearing when you are writing to me? My thoughts raced at your mention of your coral pink blouse (sports). My hands want to insinuate themselves into the blouse, so that they may hold your breasts, hold them tight, tell you all you want to know. And now, could you enlighten me regarding the difference between a ‘(sports)’ blouse and a mere ordinary blouse?!
I love you.
Chris
14 July 1944
You Dear Creature,
Thank you for making today happier for me. It was great to get a new letter, and to discern, feel, bathe in, your gracefulness.
You say you are absorbed by me. I believe you. I have no doubt of it, and I love you for it. I wish I could be with you, to hold you tight and crush you till you cried. I wish I could kiss you fiercely, then tenderly: tenderly, then fiercely.
Bessie, my love, can you send me some little thing, personal to you, that has been very close to you, for me to finger and kiss, sometimes? A little piece of cloth, that has touched you. You could send me a few square inches in your next surface letter. If you think I am an ass, you must tell me so, but I am so desperately in need of you. I want you so much. I think of your breasts, your breasts, your breasts, and my great urge is to hold them and assure you of my love.
Since writing the earlier pages I have had some sleep, and then been forced by chaps not playing at the last minute, to turn out for our cricket team against a South African eleven. I have very little idea of actually playing, though I like the game for exercise. Our side scored 13 (which was terrible, including half a dozen 0’s, of which mine was one). And they declared at 112 for 7, giving us another whack. This time we scored 44, and to my delight, I scored – 1! We had cake and tea, a bumpy ride there and back, and I felt all virtuous for blooming-well turning out at some inconvenience and ‘saving the honour of the side’.
I wish I could be with you to bathe in the wonder and magic and splendour of you. ‘Wonder, magic, splendour’; if it should happen that you read this on a nasty morning after an alarming ‘bomb’ night, you may look askance at these words. But I want you to accept them as illustrating how I regard you, the source of things good.
I love you.
Chris
17 July 1944
My dear Bessie,
I received today your No. 5, and my impression after reading it was that you were unhappy, and I had caused it, a thing I never want to do. Please, my darling, do not get depressed or downcast, sad and sorrowful on account of anything I may say. I do not mean to question you or your conduct.
I assure you that, however discouraged I may be by the world scene, I am not miserable about you and I, and that nothing you have said in any way detracts from my appreciation and love of you; for you to even metaphorically have a ‘suicidal feeling’ is very silly, and right against the facts.
You say that when I am ‘fed up’ with you, you feel cold and stiff and useless. Whenever has a letter of mine told you I am fed up? My whole effort has been to impress you with my hunger for you. And I believe that I have succeeded, I do not really feel that you are seriously thinking I am not perfectly satisfied with you. Whatever emotions I have had about any other person in the past are quite dwarfed by this that I have for you. Do not talk of me leaving you when my one big desire is to come to you, to come to you as your lover, your mate, and take your everything.
I am glad you mention about avoiding people. We certainly must slobber alone. What a wonderful day when we are really together, in the flesh, looking at each other. What wonderful days when I am holding you, mating with you. Of course you are silly for thinking I might leave you. And I don’t believe you think it. You know that you have me now for good. This morning I was looking at some of your ‘old’ letters (they are new and alive to me always now) and saw you say ‘You know that with me you have come home’, and I thought how splendidly true that was. You are my home. My life rests within and through you.
You say you yearn to please me. Well, you can do that by not worrying your head about me and my desert needs. I am much more concerned about bombs on you than anything like getting you to send me anything, even if I needed it! Penguins you can look out for, please: A99 A Book of English Essays. A98 An Anthology of War Poetry. Don’t wear yourself stiff getting them. Give up the chase, if, as is probable, they are now out of print. Remember that I’d prefer one letter from you to the whole of the Bodleian.
I love you.
Chris
25 July 1944
Dear Bessie,
I have today posted you a registered parcel. I suppose it will take a couple of months to reach you, so that you should, by the end of September, be the proud possessor of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations. You may have heard of the volume previously, but I rather think you would not have one already. It is a classic; I bought my first Bartlett’s, published in 1884, second hand for four pence. It was very fine. The latest edition has all the ‘modern’ quotes; I had a good deal of trouble getting those I got in England. The publishers gave me the last copy they had. The book cost a guinea when I bought it first, but has since been raised to £1 10s. When I saw one for £2 in Alex. on leave I thought ‘I must get it for Bessie’. (The 10s. extra is because of agreed prices for sale of English books in Egypt.) I had hoped to hold on to the volume for another month, to ensure its arrival near your birthday. But that is not possible, and I hope you will regard it as my first birthday gift to you, with all my love and affection, my regard and esteem. I hope that we may spend many happy hours looking into its pages together.
I do not really remember the things that made you sad in my 6/7 letter and which were dispelled by my No. 1 letter which arrived in the evening. My only feeling is that your imagination works overtime on things which might make you miserable and unbelieving and undertime on things that might make you happier. If ever something arises about which I feel very strongly that you are acting unwisely, I shall tell you unmistakeably.
The ‘bursting’ feeling that you mention I have in varying degrees, and there are times when I feel desperate for you, for your flesh, for your body, for your breasts. Always I long to feel you, but I have my ‘peaks’ of wishing for you.
Glad you like the numbering system.
I am sorry about your bomb troubles. Please tell me all about them, as they occur to you. I shall not comment on them as I do not want to start repeating horrors ‘at’ you. I suppose your bad ‘sleeps’ are inevitable. I wish I could come to you in your sleep and drive your nasty shadows away.
We shall never know if, really, we have met ‘a bit late’. Perhaps it is a fluke that we have come together. I am hoping that we are going to make the best of it. There are years and years and years ahead of us. Probably we shall be able to recollect our present correspondence only as a small part of our happiness.
Although I may be able to wangle it somehow, I shall perhaps be forced very soon to destroy some of your letters, the great majority, actually, as it is space which I must consider. I am sorry about this. Please, forgive me, but probably I should have had to do it sometime, anyhow. I shall not forget any of the things you have told me. I shall remember every embrace, every endearment, every caress.
I love you.
Chris
28 July 1944
Dear Bessie,
I very much hope that you will have a wonderful time in Sheffield, as the surrounding countryside is very fine and you only need good weather to ensure a good break. In any case it will seem grand to
have real sleep, in a bed. I hope that you will dream of me …
I shall be pleased to receive the photo in due course, although I shall not be surprised to hear that you have had a lot of trouble getting it done. Phew! What a lot of room paper takes up. Today I hope to get a chance to burn your letters.
I am glad you thought No. 2 was a smasher – oh lucky mortal to be able to keep your letters. I am so sorry I must dispose of yours. I think I may ask you to send me a letter, which is only composed of the nicest sentiments and the most truly expressive phrases, so that I may always keep it with me, never have to dump it and can always pull it out and let me see what you think. Perhaps when I get settled, I will do the same for you, oh my Darling. I am so pleased that you are not feeling meek and mild. I am often just like a roaring lion. I want to roar, and bore into you. I want to feel you all over, touch you lovingly in secret places. For me, you are beauty, glory and delight. Please, my dear one, accept that as a profound meaningful declaration on my part, of deep desire for you, of real everlasting intention to be with you in all ways, and whatever may happen.
I love you.
Chris
3 August 1944
My Dear Bessie,
Unless I am very careful I shall be slobbering throughout the whole of this letter.
Honestly, I cannot be casual about what you are saying to me. You are stirring me till I gasp. Although I bravely but sorrowfully burnt almost all your other letters, I feel now that I must keep these latest ones, and so, because I cannot trust you to my kitbag, or that artful little corner in my gas respirator where rests my odd other letters, I needs must have a big pocket bulging in front of me, containing what you have sent.
About our after the war programme, I don’t know. We shall settle our troubles better when we know what they are likely to be! It may be a week, a month, but I know that it cannot be much longer. Fortunately our furniture does give something of a start, and we shall have a fair amount of money between us. I expect your Dad will let you have your bed (although I suppose it is part of your other possessions) and no doubt my Mother would let me have mine.
I am wholly in your power. And I know that you are wholly in mine! This cloth (perhaps a small handkerchief) – will you place it on your breasts (no, rub it on them) and then send it? Please. It will take a long time to come, but I shall know when it does, and I shall treasure it and envy it its luck.
I can understand your rows with your Dad. I haven’t been on the best of terms with my brother since you enchanted me. He seems to be in the way, obtrudes.
Thank you for telling me the costume you were wearing. I would give a lot to see you in it, though I suspect you would not be in it long. I must take you somewhere, a long way from anyone, away to our own spot, as soon as the time comes.
I love you.
Chris
4 August 1944
My dear and lovely Bessie,
You can imagine how I felt today to get your photographs, on top of these LCs I have lately received! How lovely you are! How really nice! How much to be admired! Dear, dear, dearest Elizabeth, what are you doing to me, what are we doing to each other? How did I not see you, why was I blind, what can I do? I do not want to use ordinary words and usual language to tell you how dear you are to me, how I ache and wait for you. You are worthy of so much more than I can ever hope to give, yet your love inspires me, and makes me think I might succeed with you. I shall return later the photographs taken at Great Yarmouth and Rannoch Moor. Both may be a little bit precious to you, and the FOUR (it’s grand to have so many) others will be wonderful for me to drink in.
Already I have had a dozen quick furtive looks. I am looking forward to the time when I can take my first long look at them, when I am by myself, when I can imagine the better that you are with me. Now, when you look at my photographs, you can wonder if I am looking at yours at the same time. There will be many times when that happens, for I shall look often. Look at you holding your skirt, look at you showing your bare feet, look at you by the boat, and be delighted at the curve of your breasts revealed by the jumper. Look at you with the other girl (‘I’ll soon polish ’er ’orf’ – Sweeney Todd), at your little velvet trousers, your bare knees. Whew! You have done something now!
I LOVE YOU.
Chris
12 August 1944
[Italy]
My dear and lovely Bessie,
This will be a short and hurried letter to convey to you the news that I have recently had a short and safe sea journey, and am having a most interesting time, as well as looking forward to the times ahead. You can imagine my relief when I discovered I was not bound for India, and my pleasure to be again on the same continent as you. The sand that fell on the stone floor here when I made my bed here last night is the last I may ever sleep on again. I have no great complaint about Libya, but it is good to get away from the eternal camel, sand, khamsins,* and to see again trees, houses, streets, civilians and other near-England sights. As I have only been here a day, you will not expect much news of the place. Apart from varied uniforms, there is little sign that there is a war on, and no sign of lack of food. Many of the young children present a similar appearance to those in Egypt, but the adults are well dressed and look true to type. The women are attractive, languorous, and their clothes are of many types and materials. (I gave my issue of preventatives to one of our chaps whose appetite is larger than my own.) There is a good NAAFI, and a YMCA. At the latter I bought 2 cakes (with a penny each) and a cup of tea for – 6d. (10 lire). There are some fine, but very dear, silks and satins on sale. Strangely, not many ice cream shops, although I had a wonderfully cold limonata today for 6d.
There are plenty of nice tomatoes about, almonds, pears, etc. I was unfortunately unable to travel with my brother, but will shortly be joining up with him again, to recommence our journeyings together and swap recent experiences. The best thing about the sea journey was its shortness. The conditions below decks, in the space provided for the Other Ranks, were slightly worse than those I endured for seven weeks, eighteen months ago. You could not imagine those conditions, and I am not going to attempt to describe them herein. Later I will send you a letter I shall submit to censorship. I am sure every ordinary soldier abroad lost a stone in weight during the journey. The behaviour of the chaps was very much better than previously, and the food was greatly improved. I slept on decks both for comfort and as a safety measure. The main thing about any wartime sea journey, however, is one’s safe arrival, and I thank the chaps in the Navy for mine.
Now I want you to understand that from now on my warnings of a few months back, about imagining that my lack of words means lack of fundamental interest in you, really do hold good. At my desert station I had plenty of opportunity for writing. Now, I am on the edge of a new life, the brink of adventure, the fringe of something I have never experienced before. I do not know where I may go or how long I shall be there. I cannot say to myself, ‘Ah, I’ll write Bessie tomorrow’ – for I shall not know where I shall be tomorrow. I want you always to bear my new circumstances in mind, and never to think I am for a moment leaving off thinking about you with my head, and writing you letters in my heart.
Censorship will naturally be more frequent, and I shall find myself rather discouraged in illustrating the strength of my desires regarding you. I am very sorry that this is so, and I hope you will not fail to appreciate the new position. I shall always write you as often and as much as circumstances allow. I shall think of you, you will be a part of me, now and in the future as you have been in this recent wonderful past. I shall dream of you in whatever awaits me as I have dreamt of you amidst the sand, and, lately, on the sea. Do not worry about my safety, do not worry about the sureness of my love for you, or the glory you mean to me; you, you, you, alone.
I love you.
Chris
23 August 1944
Dear Bessie,
I can quite easily understand the appeal of My Lady Nicotine in present circumstances, a
nd had awaited some such little ‘confession’ as you are good enough to offer. You can be a human chimney if you want to be one. I know you will be able to reduce it when conditions make human beings of us all, again. I wish I could let you have my free issue, which in this Command is a weekly 60 cigarettes (Park Drive last week, Craven A this), 2 boxes of [matches] – and one bar of chocolate. I wouldn’t worry too much about saving money. We shall be fairly well off compared with many. I forget how much I am saving each week. Either £2 10s. or £2 15s., I know.
I do not carry your letters about with me now. It was only on the boat. I could not risk you being ‘dispersed over a wide area’. In any move, you – your letters – travel with me. I am sorry I had to burn so much of you – later I will tell you of the few letters I saved.
So your Dad is now retired. A little job would be useful for the reason you give. You are bound to get on each other’s nerves. Don’t think I shall regard you as a horrid cat if you do flare up. I’ll control you alright! Glad you are still getting the Statesman, thought you might have lapsed it.
I want to hold you now and always.
I love you.
Chris
27 August 1944
Dearest,
I have now moved from the dusty camp, and after another journey by cattle truck, the details of which are too Army-ish to describe, have arrived at a site, perhaps the most pleasant I shall ever be in, whether in the Army or out of it. Just as I am overpowered by you and not very eloquent in telling you, so this place is so full of natural beauty that it defies the efforts of an ordinary man to describe it. We are in a valley known locally as ‘Happy Valley’. On three sides there are the hills, covered with trees of infinite variety and much beauty – and on the other side – the sea; ten minutes’ walk from the camp, from which it is always visible. (I am sitting on the beach in the cove writing this, at the moment, having just been in the warm sea.) This place might be anywhere in England for the forest aspect of the hills, anywhere along the coast for the peaceful quiet of this cove. When you find a place like this in England you hope that no one else will ‘discover’ it. Out here there is no fear of anyone else coming, as there are only half-a-dozen farm houses to be seen situated on the slopes of the valley.