by Chris Barker
I hope to goodness that I shan’t go to the SE Asia Command after this European side is over.* Anyone who goes there from here will be very unhappy, although India is only 4 years now, which means I only have another 2 years and 4 months to do to qualify. Does 2 years and 4 months sound very long to you, my darling? Somehow, there are times when it seems not bad, and others when it is too long to contemplate. 850 days! Sometimes it seems only yesterday I wrote my first letter to you. Sometimes it seems that I have been writing you and wanting you all my life.
I love you.
Chris
3 October 1944
I usually smile a bit when I write ‘private and family matters’ on the back of this Letter Card, when addressed to you. All that I say is so very private! And I so wish we were in the same family, and your name the same as mine.
When you ask, in No. 34, received today, for ‘ladles of applause’ for your voluntary banishment of my Lady Nicotine, you do not ask in vain. Of course, I am impressed with the stand you are making, of course I admire the way you are denying yourself the queer satisfaction of the leaf, and of course I know that quite directly you feel you are doing it for me, and I, your servant, am pleased with you, proud of you, glad about you. If your appetite for food has improved since you kept in check your appetite for tobacco, I am pleased. I think that food, in the long run, does you more good.
With some of the things you say, I can almost hear you breathing, warm and close by my side. The occasion when you touched me (actually you ‘grabbed’ my arm) was during a Week End School held, I believe, Sept 1937. (It was the first we ever held, it was my idea to hold it, and I did most of the work behind the scenes, as I usually have done, although I have also been a possessor of the stage on most occasions.) We got there Saturday afternoon, a lecture I believe, and then all went for a ramble in the evening, some to a nearby pub. Somehow we became detached from the dozen or so other ramblers. It was a lovely evening (I mentioned in an earlier letter how the sun was glinting through the trees). Then you said ‘May I hold your arm?’ and held it for just that space of time I required to shake it off. I believe I quickened my step and rejoined the rest. I remember it well; a kind of significantly well, if you understand me. I wonder if you do? I have not suddenly remembered it because I want you now, I have remembered it through the years, throughout my little adventures. Probably because I made a mistake, because I should have let you hold my arm, because I should have gone on from there, with you. We might have done so much, we might even have done a little on that sun-glinting evening. But we haven’t, we didn’t, and here we are without more than hopes and expectations (they’re great alright), with no real accomplishment.
I love you.
Chris
6 October 1944
My dearest one,
I am feeling a little tired tonight, so if this letter sprawls ungainly over the page, and I get irritable, please forgive me. I have done the last of four parcels for my brother – and – what do you think, sewn up another tin, this time containing a tin of green oranges (about a dozen) for you. I am a little dizzy now with what is on the way to you, but here is my diary record:
Sep 18 – NUTS
26 – NUTS
27 -NUTS
Oct 5 – NUTS (and 2 lemons)
6 – ORANGES (1 lemon).
I hope they all arrive safely, and that the fruit is in good condition. I feel that you must get some, and if you don’t I shall be extremely displeased with someone. I picked the oranges and lemons off the trees myself!
There are two things that have been in my mind to say since receiving the wonderful letters 33, 34, 35. One was to say that I do not like the word ‘nipple’, either. I hesitated quite a bit before using it, but decided I would have to, to say what I meant. You will see by now that I later on said ‘tips’ in another letter. I’m sorry; I hope you found the alternative acceptable. The other thing was the power you imparted into ‘vital vibrant spot’. My dearest, I received everything, all the whole of what you intended. I was very close, I was very near, I was very stirred.
Your list of favourite poets interested me, but I was mistaken in my previous choice. I will have another try as I get the opportunity.
How is your tobacco taboo proceeding? I hope you are holding out and bearing up, my brave and courageous lady.
I wonder when I shall get your handkerchief, to smell, to feel, to hold against me. I want it a lot, something from you, something of you. Blow me, Bessie, I could do with you, near me, beside me, with me. Some day I shall come to you and speak to you, of what you are to me, of what you mean; I shall thank you for all that you have done. I shall ask you to take the big chance and marry me. I shall ask you to live with me. I shall ask for your sympathy.
I love you.
Chris
9 October 1944
Dearest,
As anticipated I was able to get into the nearby town today, and am writing now in one of the two excellent NAAFIs which it possesses. I shall be able to write this without interruption because I am my own boss for a precious brief period, and can do as I please.
When I first reached a side street, several little boys asked me if I wanted a girl: I thought it better not to try to explain to them that you are the only one I WANT. The stalls yielded no fresh treasures. I think it would be a good idea if you were to let me have your sizes (other than shoes, unless the 5½ slipper is a larger size than the ordinary walking shoe) and also tell me how many yards of material you need to make a blouse, dress, skirt.
Another thing I thought was, perhaps now that winter was upon you, your thoughts were turning to knitting socks for me. (Pardon the presumption if you hadn’t toyed with the idea.) Well, please don’t, and don’t be unhappy at not being able to spread your activities on my behalf to my feet. I left England with 13 pairs of socks. Over a year ago, when we thought we were moving somewhere, I had to get rid of 10 pairs, the Army number being 3. The number is adequate, and others are an embarrassment at times when, in order to lighten the load, our kit bags are taken from us. Of course, I’d like you here to darn them (though I fancy they would remain undarned if you were here!) but that is not possible.
Various blokes have ‘heard it on the wireless’, but I haven’t seen in the newspapers, a statement by Churchill that you may be able to confirm, that before being sent to the Far East, chaps out here would get home leave. It seems too fair to be true, but I wondered if it was. If so, and I came home under that scheme, we could get married if you then feel as I do, we could get married, we could live together and sleep together and be together. I used to feel that embarkation leave marriages (of little more than juveniles) was a mistake, but perhaps we are not juveniles and in any case if I was anywhere near you I could not keep from you, and I don’t think I should try it.
What a joy in the meetings of everyday. To be able to see you whenever I wanted! To be able to go about together, to wash up together, to go to the pictures – and come home.
I love you.
Chris
10 October 1944
My dearest, dearest Bessie,
I must write this very quickly to be sure of its despatch.
Yesterday, after my town visit, I returned to the village fairly miserable, rather dejected, and hoped for mail. It was 10 o’clock at night, and there was mail. Your 37, and your pen and handkerchief. I tell you that I was struck powerfully with the wonder and delight of you. The pen (I am using it now, this is the first time. It is going well), an indication of you, the handkerchief – oh, my dearest, nearly a revelation of you. I was hot and weary. I unfolded it, took off my spectacles and buried my face in your sweetness. It was cool, fragrant, hope giving. I cannot tell you of the happiness and quiet sense of being at home that I felt as I kept my face to it, as I smelt YOU; it was an experience. A wonderful, wonderful lightening of my burden. When I finally took my face away I felt that I had had a little secret while with you.
I love you.
Chris
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12 October 1944
My Dearest,
I had just sealed down No. 65 when your 39 was handed to me (38 missing). It was the one where you had been disturbed in the bath, an alarming affair which I can appreciate but little, even though I have had ‘alerts’ when in the bath at home. Such a little more clothes on and we feel so much safer. Of course, I had no comets overhead to frighten me. What a time you are having, and I do hope you will be completely safe throughout your upsets. I am glad you are not a bath fiend. The average working person hasn’t the time to bath daily. I always think drying is a nuisance. If the water has been hot, the bathroom is very moist, and the towel does not really dry you, it just stops you being so wet. I can imagine you sitting in the bath and reading my letters, but surely looking at photographs and bathing is a hazardous combined operation?
I think that I had better take the opportunity of saying now that I hope your birthday passes happily, and that it will be the last one you celebrate as Miss Moore, Mrs Barker. I am sorry there isn’t any chance of being with you in person, to celebrate the fact of you, and I feel that you are not likely to get a letter from me on that day. But do remember I shall be thinking ‘It is the 26th. It is HER birthday.’
I like Richmond. I have been there often, and know it fairly well, but not in the winter when your ‘low lying, near river’ criticisms are no doubt well merited. Sevenoaks is about 45 minutes by train from Charing Cross, probably a little too far for us. But I like SE. Don’t go anywhere special, please, just keep your eyes open and think where you would feel yourself most happy. Although we keep assuring each other that we shall be ‘poor but happy’, I think our financial position will be fairly sound (after Orpington, as I have heard the porter at London Bridge call out so often, the stations are CHELMSFORD, KNOCKHOLT, DUNTON GREEN, and SEVENOAKS).
I don’t think you are likely to be a ball and chain to me. You are likely to be the grease on the banisters down which I slide. You have never shocked me, you never will. You always thrill me and make me glad and proud about the possession of you. Elizabeth, I love you. Let there be no regrets ever.
Chris
26 October 1944
My Dear Bessie,
I think I may now tell you what I can about this ship, which is travelling through the sea as I write this, with me looking out to sea. It is the best of the three ships I have been on. We have bunks, and I am in the middle of a tier of three, mattresses are provided, also two blankets, and the whole atmosphere below decks is much cooler than other ships, although a great deal of this is due to the weather, which here is no warmer than an English June day. Our meals are eaten in another part of the ship (not under our bed space as in my two previous ships) and they are excellently cooked and tastily served, although rather small. Instead of two sweating mess underlings attending you, the meals are served direct from the galley, cafeteria fashion; you only need your own mug and knife, fork and spoon, as your plate consists of a metal moulded tray, with six declivities of varying size: the bread goes in one, the sweet in another, the pickles in another, the cheese in another. The tray is a kind of stainless steel, shines brightly, and is rather nice. Probably you know the stunt, maybe your own British Restaurant (‘Plonk – Plonk – Splash’ as you once said) uses it.
It is a pity that I am now a few miles further off you than when I was in Italy, but so long as I am on the same continent, I am fairly happy. I have wanted for some time to go to places where Allied Armies had not tramped too much. I prefer to help blaze a trail (in this unit!) than follow after several millions have used it. I should be able to write fairly interestingly of this new country, but you will not expect anything ‘startling’, since anything in that direction is forbidden.
One thing, please do not seem to think that I think you are unintelligent or dumb. I think you are intelligent and no fool. That is not to say that I think you have got the right slant on the social life, insofar as you know the working people are being ‘done’, but you cannot really see much good in doing anything about it. I think you’ll come to see the use of action as time passes, but in the meantime, please don’t write as though I think you are silly. I think you are at least up to my own standard, and you’d probably agree if you knew how low it was.
I have just had a couple of hours on deck, ‘under starry sky’ as the poets would say, watching the phosphorescence on the water. Grand sight as the ship speeds through the dark waters. Would I have liked you with me on the deck? Would I! I am leaving the rest of this page until I land, to let you know the latest position that I can. Sorry this writing is so small, but expect you’ll tire your eyes with great joy! Elizabeth, I love you.
Chris
26 October 1944 [Second letter]
My Dearest,
Today is your birthday, and I am thinking of you. I got up at six o’clock and my first thought was of you. I commence this at 7.30, on a very fine, Spring-like morning. The limited view from the window as I sit at my desk discloses trees, mostly pine, and in the distance, mountains. I am glad that we defeated distance in telling of our love.
I wrote the above before 9 a.m. this morning. Now p.m., and two good things have happened. (1) I have received 42, 43, 44 and 45. (2) We are now allowed to mention that we are in Greece, and, too, that we have seen the Parthenon, Acropolis etc, and visited Athens. It’s mighty fine of the Censor!
I have just returned from a visit to the nearby town, and am just starting a night duty as I write this. I have done a great deal of walking and feel a little tired and not too capable of telling you all that has happened since we have been in Greece. Tomorrow I should be able to write you the first of a properly connected account of the welcome we have had, and what it feels like to be a ‘Liberator’.
SOCKS. – I am pleasantly appalled at your hard work on my behalf. Honestly the Army issue of three pairs is adequate, and it is all I have had for over a year, since I threw half-a-dozen pairs in a well in a Tripoli garden. But (aren’t I good?) I won’t throw yours away. I shall welcome them, wear them, and think of you. But, please, desist, my lady, desist. Please don’t worry about sending me anything. I will tell you anything I need, without fail. Please don’t send me your favourite book – but tell me what it is, so that I may know just that little more about you. Thank you for letting me have your measurements – your bust, your hips, your waist – lead me to them! is what I think, and I am sure you will lead me.
I love you.
Chris
27 October 1944
My Dear Bessie,
Athens is a city on holiday, a people celebrating after years of suffering, a great communal smile; laughter, happiness, joy, jubilation everywhere. It would do jaded Londoners good to see what I, treading on the heels of the Germans, have seen. It would do them good to have the Athenian welcome as I have had it.
Imagine travelling with half a dozen other chaps in a truck, running through banner-bedecked festooned streets hung with bright coloured declarations of welcome and praise for England, being cheered and applauded, loud and long, by single individuals or groups of people, as we rushed along. Imagine everyone sitting outside a cafe getting to their feet and clapping. Imagine that happening at a hundred cafes. Turn a city into a stage, make the British Army the players and hear us warm to the genuine joyous proud applause of the appreciative audience. Imagine every house flying flags, sometimes only the Greek, but generally our own, the US, and the Red Flag. Imagine every wall painted with well meant slogans and salutations, many in English (some pidgin English!) and many in Greek: ‘Welcome Our Liberators’ – ‘Greetings Allies’ – ‘Wellcome to our Dear Allies’ – ‘Good Luck to our Greit Allies’ – ‘Hip Hooray for the British Army’ – ‘Welcome Heroic English’ – ‘We salute our Heroic Liberators’. Imagine having flowers thrown into the truck.
Imagine walking along a street, receiving the full smile and the frank staring admiration of every passer-by. That is our luck as we make our way through the beautiful avenues and square
s, the first non-goosesteppers since 1941. Whatever commercialism may do tomorrow, today the soldier is receiving his reward, on behalf of those in the British Isles who have not been beaten by German ingenuity. We may like to make our own reservations about the value of certain British policies and politicians, but in their naive trusting way these folks think of us all as a wonderful collection of people. It is a great feeling.
Have been to the Parthenon and Acropolis as well as seen the Parthenon floodlit. Currency here has been ruined by the Germans. 500 drachma to the £1 in peacetime. Now, 6 cigarettes cost 2,000,000,000 (two thousand million) drachma. I have several billions worthless notes which I will send you later. All for now. Hope you are well and happy.
I love you.
Chris
29 October 1944
Dearest,
I am glad you find my letters worth reading. There is nothing ‘too good to be true’ about this, our love. I know you have faith in me. I want you always to have the deep secure feeling that I love you and desire you.
It looks as though getting a place will be a harder job than either ‘getting married’ or ‘living together’. I am afraid we shall be hard put to it to find accommodation. Have you thought that we might have to stop apart until we did get somewhere? It makes me sweat! Do not get too many mental pictures of me ‘toddling round the house’. It is not good for you. I have already told you I have made a note of your measurements in my pay book. In Italy, as you say, there was a shortage, but it does not seem to apply here, though the prices are un-understandable at present, and we have to reorganise the currency for the Greeks. Until that happens, purchases are foolish and actually prohibited. But there are literally miles of all kinds of cloths and many other things which I will consider one day when the currency is stabilised. A little girl in Athens told me it cost her 10,000,000,000 (ten thousand million) drachma to pay for a seat at the pictures.