Stan and Grace

Nurses Home                                                                                          (21) G.H.N. 5 .5 .43          My Own Darling, I am sitting by an open window of our sitting room, writing this letter (still at Selston).   It is a glorious day.   The sun is shining and the birds singing.   There is hardly a cloud above and the sky is a lovely blue.   (NOT as blue, I don’t suppose, as your skies out there).    There is just one person missing from the scene and you know who that is...

Usual address                                                                                          (20) Tuesday, May 4 th 1943 My Own Darling, The wireless is playing a dreamy sentimental tune (just the sort you and I like) and I have just been making a beast of myself by eating all my week’s chocolate ration without stopping. (it’s O.K. it is only one bar! !) so I am feeling in a particularly pleasant mood, and feel that this is just the right time to write a few thoughts on paper to you. It’s about a fortnight now since I heard from you, so that...

Nurses Home General Hospital Nottingham 1.      5. 43                                                                                                          (20) Dearest One, Once again I sit down to write you a letter to go by ordinary mail.   I like to send you at least one letter every week by ordinary mail.   Airgraphs are alright but to me they do not seem very personal.   I think that air letters are the best of all to send, don’t you? For myself – I am looking forward to the day when we need not send each other letters but will be able to tell each other everything.   That day cannot come soon enough for me....

Nurses Home                                                                                          (19) General Hospital Nottingham 27. 4. 43      My Precious Darling, I received your letter No. 7 this morning.   10 pages too!   It was grand.   I am glad I was off duty too.   It gave me plenty of time in which to read and digest it. Well Dear, Easter has come and gone.   How did you spend it? Easter Sunday was my half day.   I went into Nottingham and to the pictures.   Monday was my day of...

Sergt S. Bristow                                                                                       (19) Headquarters 9 Corps Signals (Rear) B.N.A.F. Tuesday, April 27 ‘43 My Very Own Darling Actually I have nothing new to write to you about, but I have a feeling of restlessness hanging over me tonight and I thought perhaps to share a few minutes with you might cure it.   This is my third letter in three days, so I think I am just about creating a record, since arriving out here.   You will have got my air letter of the 25 th and airgraph written ...

April 26 th  1943         My Own Darling, Following very closely on the heels of your air letter of last night, your ordinary letter No. 11 of April 6 th  arrived as an Easter Monday present – a very pleasant one too!  I’ve no air letter forms at the moment so had to resort to this method of reply.  Easter Monday out here has gone off more or less like any other day out here- perhaps a little bit more exciting than some.  I had to dive into a hole rather quickly, but apart from getting covered in good ‘onest muck’ nothing outrageous happened.  So you can’t make up your mind whether to go to Edinburgh or to Sth. Wales for your holidays.  How I wish I could be with you to share them!  Still there will be lots more holidays in the days that are to come and then I shan’t be thousands of miles away, but actually by your side enjoying them with you.  That first holiday of ours after the wa...

Sunday, April 25 th 1943                                                                            (17) My Own Darling, The bell of the little village church just down the road is ringing out its weekly call to worship over the surrounding countryside.   Its ring, echoing through the sunlit air, reminds on vaguely (an inexplicably, for Grimethorpe never had a bell which sounded so sweet!) of home and of peaceful Sundays of yester-year. The villagers, bedecked in their Sunday finery, are answering to its bidding, and go in a steady stream towards the little white building, which with its red tiles and surrounding cyp...