Sunday, 2 August, 1942

The Nurses Home 

General Hospital

Nottingham

Sunday – 2.8.42

 

Darling Stan,

 

How is life in the Highlands suiting you?  It seems ages since I last heard from you but I suppose there will be a letter from you to-morrow.  I hope so, I look forward so eagerly to your letters.

 

The wedding yesterday went off quite well.  The bride was in white figured satin.  She is very slim and small, she certainly made a beautiful bride.  The church is a very old one and built, I believe, in thirteen hundred and something.  A white wedding in an old stone church always makes a lovely scene.  Or at least – I think so.

 

We collected our other snaps yesterday – they are not very good.  In fact, two did not turn out at all.  I am having the head and shoulders of one done for you but I am warning you, it is not very clear.

 

I have not much news for you.  This is a poor sort of a letter is it not?  Life is just the same day after day.  How I am looking forward to three weeks on Tuesday.

 

No more for now dear.

 

All my love, Grace xxxxxx

Comments

  1. Roger de Mercado4 August 2024 at 11:36

    Grace would almost certainly have been using a Box Brownie camera, which readers of a certain age will remember. There were eight frames on the roll of film and one had to remember to wind on (carefully) after each shot and stop winding when the next number appeared in a little window. There was no eye-level viewfinder and one peered down into a tiny viewfinder. When all frames had been used one wound the film to the end, removed it from the camera in a dark place and took it to the local chemist. Some days later one would collect it and see if the pictures had "come out". They were black and white, of course. Film was difficult to obtain during the war, but there were limited supplies. A good photo of someone special would be treasured. Reprints could be obtained and posted to a loved one. Photos of men in uniform would be framed and displayed. Photos of women and/or babies would frequently end up creased in a serviceman's tunic pocket. With luck they survived, as did the photo of my wife as a baby in her mother's arms in 1943. We still have it.

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