Thursday, 18 March, 1943

Sergt. Bristow S                                                                                      (6)
2364226
Headquarters
9 Corps Signals (Rear)
B.N.A.F.

Thursday 18 Mar 43

My Own Darling,

I have had an afternoon off today, but I didn’t go out at all.  I just laid on my bed & listened to the wireless & thought of you & home.  Music is a grand thing when you want to be quiet & think.  The programme this afternoon was grand – almost as grand as the programme we heard together in January as we laid curled up on the settee at home.

The programme was a selection of gramophone records & when it commenced with the Warsaw Concerto I immediately thought of you & my mind wandered in a very sentimental vein.  That tune certainly has got something, hasn’t it?  They played quite a few pieces like that & so I had quite a pleasant afternoon thinking of what happiness we have had together - & more important what untold happiness lays ahead.  Most of my spare time these days is spent thinking of you, my Darling.   When I get into bed at night I wonder if you are thinking of me & what you are doing.  Won’t it be a grand day when we get back together again?

Just lately I have had a rather busy time.  As it is rather difficult to get into the nearest town another Sergeant & I organised a canteen for the men & so I have been working as a fruiterer for the past three or four days.  Believe me, when we sold our last pound of oranges last night, I breathed a sigh of relief.  I was simply sick of seeing oranges, tangerines, figs & grapefruit!!  We didn’t do too badly.  We made enough profit to be able to buy enough grapefruit to give each man one free for his breakfast this morning. 

It is quite nice to be able to have grapefruit for breakfast once again (am I making your mouth water with jealousy).  I am pleased to say that considering the conditions in which we are living at the moment the food is quite good, although the fresh air is making my appetite one which takes some satisfying.

A funny thing happened the other afternoon.  I had to go into the nearby town on business & had to call at a hospital for old soldiers (something like our Chelsea Pensioners Hospital).  When I stepped out of the car I found myself slap in the middle of a crowd of French Generals, Admirals, press photographers, etc!  No, it was not a reception committee for my benefit, but was awaiting the arrival of General Giraud who was to pay a visit to the hospital that afternoon.  I was a trifle embarrassed, but saluted the assembly, pushed my way through them & carried on with my business!!!  (Yes, I did blush.)

I am still counting the days.  No home letters have arrived from you yet!  Ah me, I wish they would hurry up & come because I miss them so much & I want to read once again how much you love me & are missing me.  It gives me such a thrill, even though I know it & have had it told to me so many times.  It is a piece of information which I shall never tire of reading (or better still, & in happier circumstances, hearing you say).  Those many evenings we shall spend together in our own home after the war are going to be such cosy & thrilling affairs, aren’t they?

There’s just been a very amusing interlude in our Quarters.  The son of the farmer in whose vinery we are living is a soldier in the French army is home on leave from the front & he has just had his little boy, Gerrard, in talking to us.  Gerrard is a typical little French boy with a smock on & a velvet hat.  He is only 2½ & has a pop-gun, with which his father has taught him to drill.  He has just been standing on the table I use for my office “showing off” his prowess as a soldier.  He did very well & got half a dozen bars of chocolate from the lads when he had finished.  His father is very proud of him, but says we spoil him.

The French are very friendly disposed towards us, but the Arabs are not so friendly.  Perhaps it is because we don’t understand them like we do the French, however.

The enclosed postcard shows you what “Market Day” is like at the nearest village of any size (its about the same size as Shafton).  It perhaps looks picturesque on a picture postcard, but mix amongst them & you’ll change your mind.  Most of the Arabs are “lousy” in the true sense of the word & suffer from hereditary VD, or else have acquired it.  Now in the muddy weather their feet & legs are usually caked with mud & so altogether they are a distasteful looking bunch. 

The men who work in the vineyard “live” in a row of sheds.  The nearest counter-part in England are pigsties, I think.  After tea & their work is done they sit round a fire in one of these (there’s no chimney by the way) & indulge in community singing.  The noises they make are the most weird I have heard.  Talk about hot jazz!!!

To-day I had another inoculation & vaccination.  I have been considering the position tonight.  If all these things are successful I am immune from everything but shortness of breath & gunshot wounds.

Well, my Darling, that appears to be a pretty complete picture of my thoughts & doings since I last wrote to you.  It’s 10 p.m. & almost “lights out” so I suppose I had better get into bed before they go out.

Have you had a letter from my Mother just lately, & how are things at No. 56 Brierley Rd.?  Let me know next time you write.  Be a good girl & keep my love!

Until next time “Au Revoir” my Darling.  All my love.  Yours Stan  xxxxx

Postcard of the village market