Tom’s Letters to Joan

M.P. Section House,

King David Lane

Stepney

London E.1

Sun 22 ⁶/41.  11:45pm

My Dear Joan

After seeing you taken from me by that ‘bus at Victoria, I struggled (with case shifting from hand to shoulder and then back to hand again) to the Underground.  The journey back “home” was uneventful except for my becoming saturated with perspiration. I had a light meal and a “long” glass of grapefruit with chunks of ice floating in it and felt a good deal better.

Little snatches of all we’ve said to each other during this past week keep floating through my mind and I often have to prevent myself from making an involuntary turn of the head in expectation of seeing you at my side.  The full purport of your absence will hit me with a smack soon!

I hope your journey back to Dorking was a bit cooler than our train ride and that you weren’t beset by any unwelcome attention from the GO yobs! They certainly don’t look very choice specimens and I don’t fear any competition from that….

…quarter.

Unpacking has been accomplished and your dresses rescued from the crushing confines of my case – to think I shan’t be bringing them to you for nearly a fortnight is almost unbearable!

I haven’t seen Bill Hemmings yet and don’t suppose he’ll put in an appearance till to-morrow morning as he was [on] leave yesterday and probably went away Saturday afternoon.

Apparently London has been extra hot this last week and several of our chaps have been unable to sleep, tossing and turning till 3 and 4 in the morning. With my capacity for “dying” I don’t expect any real difficulty.

By the time you get this badly put to-gether string of words you will have tested again the daily grind – or am I rubbing it in?  I don’t know whether to wear nothing or just a little something under my uniform to-morrow – after slacks and often neck shirt its certainly going to be warm.

Awaiting your reply, Green Eyes, I remain

Yours with love,

Tom xxx

M.P. section House

King David Lane

Stepney

London, E.1.

Thurs, 26 ⁶/41. 5.30pm

My dear Freckle-Face

I’m writing this in our telephone box in Burdett Road, where I shall be relieving the other chap for his tea till about 7pm. Perspiration is oozing out of me all over under thick uniform, in spite of the fact that my only other attire consists of a thin gum vest and an intimate garment which only hides my modesty with a struggle.  My hands are very sticky (so please excuse any fingerprints) and my heart aches from no physical deficiency.

Your delightful letter and much valued enclosure were given into my spiteful and eager paws this morning.  I was eating breakfast with Bill this morning.  I had arranged to go swimming with him and couldn’t back out then, so this is the first opportunity I’ve had of attempting a reply.  I’ve thought of many things I’d like to write in the meantime, but will probably forget some of them when my pen really gets to paper. I hope the “Angels” who made your bed

…using formal words and, risking getting snubbed, ask something that you won’t be able to side-step (at least on the grounds that the meaning isn’t clear)!

Police duty has been as dull as ever and I have nothing interesting to tell you about that.  Bill Hemmings won’t be back till Thursday so I am left to my own devices with a vengeance.  The R.A.F. remain silent.

How on earth some people can write to each other every day is beyond me unless the object is to wear out nibs and waste ink in as criminal a manner as possible.  Have you ever seen any of these daily efforts, Joan?

I should like to hear what they are like if you can remember anything about them.

Sorry this is so short

I remain, yours affectionately (word with a meaning!)

Tom xxx

1385101 A/C 2 Abbott, Flight 4/2 No.3 squadron, A.C.R.C – R.A.F.

(Stockleigh Hall) c/o Flat 34 Abbey Lodge

Park road London, N.W.8

8^th July 1941.

My dear Joan

I know the address is a real mouthful but it can’t be reduced so please do your best, darling, to get it all on the envelope of your next eagerly awaited letter.

I had a pleasant week-end at Beverley and arrived at Lord’s about 4pm yesterday, where we were interviewed and generally mucked about until 10pm when we were allowed to ‘square-up’ and get to bed.  Our billets are at Stockleigh Hall, a huge block of modern flats which are only just completed, and we eat at a restaurant in the Zoo which is about 10 minutes walk.  We shall be in London at least a month but work is plentiful.  Evenings are free from about 5pm (if you like to go without tea) till 10:30pm, including Saturdays. Sundays are free, I think, after church parade, so if you are going home this week end may I come to tea?  If I don’t arrive I’ll be awfully sorry but you’ll know it’ll be unavoidable.

There are hundreds of recruits here many of them without uniform, including myself, so don’t be disappointed if I roll up in Sunday in civvies.

We have just had dinner and parade time (10 mins to 2) is creeping on.  This is the first spare time I’ve had since arriving and haven’t written to “Mummy and Daddy” yet.

I hope you’ve been enduring life with your usual philosophy  – I’ve missed you terribly in spite of the rushing about we’ve done.  We might manage an hour or two together during next week as this week there’s a hell of a lot to do and I shall have to learn the ropes before I start fiddling.

Sorry to have to leave you now, dear green eyes, but we can say and do lots on Sunday.

I remain more in love with you

Tom  X

1385101 A/C 2 Abbott, Flight 4/2 No.3 squadron, A.C.R.C – R.A.F.

(Stockleigh Hall) c/o Flat 34 Abbey Lodge

Park road London, N.W.8

Monday, 14^th July 1941. 1 pm   

Dearest

We have just marched back from dinner and I’ve got an hour to scribble to you, Freckles, so if I end abruptly you’ll understand?

After leaving you last night I came back to the billet feeling rather lost and already looking forward to seeing you again and experiencing all the feelings which I get when you are as close as you were yesterday.  By shutting my mind off from immediate surroundings I can recapture in past your proximity but have to bring mysef up with a jerk after a little while because my thought get too disturbing and make me want to cry out.

The cakes I brought back were sampled with gusto by myself and a few “intimates” and four tummies gained a little respite from almost eternal emptiness.

The maths. test came off this morning and I did 9 out of 14 in the allotted 35 mins., most or some of which were wrong, so it looks as though I’ll be in London for a week or two yet.  Providing my week-ends are left free I shan’t mind.

Our room seems to have some attraction for all and sundry and they keep asking me questions at which I rant …

… and rave, much to their delight.  They’ve started telling dirty stories now and keep pestering me for some of my best ones – swines of the first water, I shall start heaving by kit-bag and blankets at them soon.

The lack of your presence must be filled by memories until I see your dear self again – the sweetness of those morning kisses when we were on holiday, walking in the evening sun with our inside legs in step (tin ribs!), meeting you yesterday and wanting to kiss you before I got that wet cape off, your tantalising tricks when I started letting myself go in weakness, your denials of being lovely ——-.

The existence of “Harry Blank” disturbs me now and then – if he pesters you any more he’ll get his features so damaged that his charm (so called) will be non-existent.

Parade time is crawling on darling, so must stop writing and continue thinking about you,

Feeling very fit (physically) I remain

Your loving Tom  x. x infinity

1385101  AC2  Abbott

Block 49, room 3

R.A.F., South Cerney, Cirencester, Gloucestershire

Monday, 15^th September, 1941

Darling Joan

Thank you for eight pages of “you” which I found time to read about an hour after receiving it (or them) at mid-day to-day.  Got stacks of work to do, and this explains the late start I’m forced to make on this reply.

The tone of your last letter is definitely improved as far as the outlook on life is concerned – “bloody” isn’t mentioned at all for a change and apparently the Met Police came to your rescue in your boredom at the crowded dance.

I was very miserable and lazy on Saturday, day but roused myself enough to go to the station dance in “Ciren”.  Danced solidily from 8 pm – 9 pm and walked home with a comforting pipe, arriving in the billet with just enough time to make my lonely bed.  My dancing felt quite good so I can’t have got as rusty as I’d imagined – wait ‘till the week after next and we’ll see what intricate patterns we can weave on the local floor at Beverley!  Hope you enjoyed that “private” dance for which you were given a ticket, and hope you didn’t miss me too much, darling.

Your remarks on pay were highly amusing and I wondered if you’ve thought of the time when you’ll be splitting an annual 2/6d rise with me – 1/3d for you and 1/3d for me or the whole half dollar running away like water on “family” expenses??  You won’t do any good by going to the Met Police accountant, either, in spite of the skilful arguments I’m sure you’d be able to put forward and support in wordy exchanges.

About 25 of our mob went by coach to play a Raff cricket team at a place about 15 miles away yesterday.  The driver was an A.C.2 and no one was in charge of us so you bet we had a rifle-roaring time.  The team we played was composed mainly of Flight Loots, Squadron Leaders, and sergeants – all in whites – we all had white shirts but had to play in our uniform trousers and blue rubber shoes.  We went in first and got a total of 58 (yours truly – 0) and the other team looked a bit bored.  They got a bit frantic, however, when they lost 6 wickets for 19 runs but the day was theirs as our bowling seemed to flag and they went on to score 117.  Still, their team represented a whole station and ours was picked out of about 40 available I.T.W boys.  More details of this “do” later, darling.

Time creeps on and so I’ll have to end now – but the time also approaches our week to-gether; is your week’s holiday allowed yet darling?  Sta 27⁹/41 onwards!          Good night, lovely kid,

I remain, still aching inside from loving you in your absence,        

Tom.  Xxx xx       x xxx x x xxx xxx xxx x x x xxx x        xxx x xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx x x xxx

Three little words in Morse.  Takes 48 x’s so I’ll deliver them this way soon.                      

… recommend it.  Ginger Rogers has only enough money for a half fare on the train home, dresses up as a small girl and the fun goes on from there.

The cartoon from “London Opinion” which you so ably reproduced was damn good and I’m surprised that you appreciated a joke based largely on a knowledge of aircraft recognition.  I drew it on the blackboard for my students and was rewarded with hearty guffaws.  The allotment holder crack was also first class.

Sorry to hear about Elsie’s rejection by the “forces”, and I hope she gets “land” work if she’s so keen.  I’d love to see her in a pair of overalls and heavy boots cleaning out the cow-shed after milking.

Joan and Syd are still hanging on, eh?  By your description of her actions she has certainly got it bad and a little straight thinking on the part of both of them may put the “affaire” on an amorous basis once more.  Remember to tell me some of Syd’s screwy ideas!

The actions of Joyce are highly entertaining but hardly to be recommended.  I’m afraid I got a true impression of the woman at our first and only meeting!

The lipstick impression on the back of the envelope lasted well and has come in for a good deal of my personal attention.  Need I say more?

I’m writing this in my room, sat on the bed and wondering about and longing for you much too much for my own good.  The foregoing sentence was badly put together and doesn’t read good English to me, but I suppose you’ll get the meaning alright.  However, the time seems to be going fairly quickly and I get plenty of work to do, regarding which I refuse to let myself get miserable.  The life of a flying cadet is tough enough without him getting a short-tempered flying instructor.  Can’t say I’m very kind hearted toward my students though.  They’ve got to do things exactly the way I want ‘em or else……..!   When I get new students I first try to win their respect; once that is done the lads will do anything for me and they get keen as blazes on their flying ‘cause I tell them that unless they do well they will let me down.  D’you think you’ll be able to tolerate me for a husband, Green Eyes?

Loving you always, my Darling

Yours Tom  xxxxxxxxxx……………

F/O E T Abbott. RAF

Saturday 17th April, 1943

Darling

I had three letters from you this week, all banishing my loneliness for a spell and all expertly written as usual.  Wish I could write as naturally as you do – perhaps you’d get more letters from me if I could.

Your American partner at H.P that Saturday who suggested that the “dead” were buried here is typical. By the way, you can tell anyone who repeats that crack that they’d better hurry back over here ‘cause they’re hellish short of grave-diggers – the stench is awful, especially to my sensitive English nostrils!

So sorry I had the “nerve” to ask you if “Moonlight becomes you” has reached England yet. I wasn’t suggesting England is behind the times at all – just the opposite is the case – only wondered if you’d enjoyed dancing to what I knew would be a super ‘slow’.

Saw “Random Harvest” a couple of weeks ago and I thought, like you, that it was excellent…

 Could hardly go wrong though with a team like Colman and Garson, could you?

You told me that one of my letters had been censored twice, which rather shook me, but I apparently said nothing naughty or you would have mentioned that chunks had been cut out.

You went dancing again at H.P. and met an acquaintance of yours whose brother had been sent straight to the Middle East after training in Canada.  All the men who have been on the same job as I have here have gone back to England (so far) and I’ve still got to learn to fly a battle wagon before I can do any real scrapping.  Surely I’ll get a spot of home leave after 18 months (nearly) “wivaht none”.  The spoon on the string at H.P. sounds as though the crowd can’t be trusted any more – or weren’t they ever trustworthy?

Spring in Surrey sounds a helluva lot better than this dump here, where it is almost non-existent.  The sun is almost vertically overhead at mid-day,  and really beats the stuffing out of me.  I’m sitting on my (9:30pm) bed ‘dressed’…

… in slippers and shorts at present, feeling very sticky, in spite of my wide open windows.

Tomorrow may be cold enough for an overcoat, even if there is a clear sky.  What a place!  Still, Soon I may be shivering, with you, in an English summer.  We are due to leave Cochran about the end of this month, but how long we’ll be awaiting transport from Canada I can’t tell.  Glad to read that you are being more philosophical about my absence, and are realising that the R.A.F  is a necessarily hard task-master.

Please give my regards to your folks, especially Cis. I often think of the times we used to have at Borehamwood, with your mother never failing to make me welcome. 

I still love you, Tin Ribs, as deeply as ever, and I think about you much too often for the good of my well-being during our separation, which should not last much longer.

I remain

    Ever yours,

                Tom xxxx

Tuesday 2/5/44 6.30pm

My Darling Joan,

Two more letters were waiting my return to the mess this evening after a day on the range firing all sorts of guns.

Sorry to hear the Elsie is no better and am wondering why the doctor doesn’t give more information on the nature of the illness.

When I read the quotations from some of my old letters I, too, wondered how I ever had the temerity to write such insulting stuff.  Don’t remember you ever paying me out for calling you an impatient bitch so perhaps you will remember to do so when we are next together – providing you’ve forgiven me.

I’m pleased you liked Saturday…

… afternoon at Hammersmith and got some good dancing, but I get very envious when another man finds himself fortunate enough to be able to talk to you, dance with you, and ask you to go out with him when I can’t even see you, let alone speak or dance with you, Dearest.  I’d better not start grumbling now, though, because I’m hungry (no grub n the last five hours) and once started could go on moaning to the end of this page.  Permanent hunger for you, Green Eyes, would be the theme.

Since there is a crowd in the ante-room, I’m writing this in the library where conditions are comparatively quiet but where I miss you more than ever and where loneliness becomes really oppressive.  Darling, I love you so much and hope it won’t be too long before we see each other again.

Always yours

Tom. xxxxxxxxxxxxx