My Dear Bessie (11 page)

12 July 1944

Dear Bessie,

I heard on the news that the flying bombs left London alone last night. I hope you made the most of it, and got a good night's rest for once in a while. Do you go in the shelter at night and what kind of a shelter have you got? What happens in the daytime, do you just carry on working? There are so many people to whom this war has brought disaster and distress. One of the chaps in my Section has just learned that one of his brothers has been killed in France. He has another brother there also.

There is something like the cry of a child for its mother in the way my inside cries for you, and then again there is not, there is the just as strong instinct of mating, for in our roundabout fashion, that is what we have come to the threshold of – mating.

You would be glad of the ‘drying winds' out here. They are terrific. I, too, look forward to the day when you'll be ironing my shirts. I don't know how ‘heavy' I am on clothes. Darned socks,
the trouser bottom where it touches the shoe, and frayed cuffs are the only repairs I can think of offhand. You should see my darns nowadays! Great big lumps of wool, but they never seem to hurt me, so they must be OK.

I was delighted to get some idea of your dresses, though it will take me some time to assimilate them. Sometimes will you tell me what you are wearing when you are writing to me? My thoughts raced at your mention of your coral pink blouse (sports). My hands want to insinuate themselves into the blouse, so that they may hold your breasts, hold them tight, tell you all you want to know. And now, could you enlighten me regarding the difference between a ‘(sports)' blouse and a mere ordinary blouse?!

I love you.

Chris

14 July 1944

You Dear Creature,

Thank you for making today happier for me. It was great to get a new letter, and to discern, feel, bathe in, your gracefulness.

You say you are absorbed by me. I believe you. I have no doubt of it, and I love you for it. I wish I could be with you, to hold you tight and crush you till you cried. I wish I could kiss you
fiercely, then tenderly: tenderly, then fiercely.

Bessie, my love, can you send me some little thing, personal to you, that has been very close to you, for me to finger and kiss, sometimes? A little piece of cloth, that has touched you. You could send me a few square inches in your next surface letter. If you think I am an ass, you must tell me so, but I am so desperately in need of you. I want you so much. I think of your breasts, your breasts, your breasts, and my great urge is to hold them and assure you of my love.

Since writing the earlier pages I have had some sleep, and then been forced by chaps not playing at the last minute, to turn out for our cricket team against a South African eleven. I have very little idea of actually playing, though I like the game for exercise. Our side scored 13 (which was terrible, including half a dozen 0's, of which mine was one). And they declared at 112 for 7, giving us another whack. This time we scored 44, and to my delight, I scored – 1! We had cake and tea, a bumpy ride there and back, and I felt all virtuous for blooming-well turning out at some inconvenience and ‘saving the honour of the side'.

I wish I could be with you to bathe in the wonder and magic and splendour of you. ‘Wonder, magic, splendour'; if it should happen that you read this on a nasty morning after an alarming ‘bomb' night, you may look askance at these words. But I want you to accept them as illustrating how I regard you, the source of things good.

I love you.

Chris

17 July 1944

My dear Bessie,

I received today your No. 5, and my impression after reading it was that you were unhappy, and I had caused it, a thing I never want to do. Please, my darling, do not get depressed or downcast, sad and sorrowful on account of anything I may say. I do not mean to question you or your conduct.

I assure you that, however discouraged I may be by the world scene, I am not miserable about you and I, and that nothing you have said in any way detracts from my appreciation and love of you; for you to even metaphorically have a ‘suicidal feeling' is very silly, and right against the facts.

You say that when I am ‘fed up' with you, you feel cold and stiff and useless. Whenever has a letter of mine told you I am fed up? My whole effort has been to impress you with my hunger for you. And I believe that I have succeeded, I do not really feel that you are seriously thinking I am not perfectly satisfied with you. Whatever emotions I have had about any other person in the past are quite dwarfed by this that I have for you. Do not talk of me leaving you when my one big desire is to come to you, to come to you as your lover, your mate, and take your everything.

I am glad you mention about avoiding people. We certainly must slobber alone. What a wonderful day when we are really together, in the flesh, looking at each other. What wonderful days when I am holding you, mating with you. Of course you are silly for thinking I might leave you. And I don't believe you think it.
You know that you have me now for good. This morning I was looking at some of your ‘old' letters (they are new and alive to me always now) and saw you say ‘You know that with me you have come home', and I thought how splendidly true that was. You are my home. My life rests within and through you.

You say you yearn to please me. Well, you can do that by not worrying your head about me and my desert needs. I am much more concerned about bombs on you than anything like getting you to send me anything, even if I needed it! Penguins you can look out for, please: A99
A Book of English Essays
. A98
An Anthology of War Poetry
. Don't wear yourself stiff getting them. Give up the chase, if, as is probable, they are now out of print. Remember that I'd prefer one letter from you to the whole of the Bodleian.

I love you.

Chris

25 July 1944

Dear Bessie,

I have today posted you a registered parcel. I suppose it will take a couple of months to reach you, so that you should, by the end of September, be the proud possessor of
Bartlett's Familiar
Quotations
. You may have heard of the volume previously, but I rather think you would not have one already. It is a classic; I bought my first
Bartlett's
, published in 1884, second hand for four pence. It was very fine. The latest edition has all the ‘modern' quotes; I had a good deal of trouble getting those I got in England. The publishers gave me the last copy they had. The book cost a guinea when I bought it first, but has since been raised to £1 10s. When I saw one for £2 in Alex. on leave I thought ‘I must get it for Bessie'. (The 10s. extra is because of agreed prices for sale of English books in Egypt.) I had hoped to hold on to the volume for another month, to ensure its arrival near your birthday. But that is not possible, and I hope you will regard it as my first birthday gift to you, with all my love and affection, my regard and esteem. I hope that we may spend many happy hours looking into its pages together.

I do not really remember the things that made you sad in my 6/7 letter and which were dispelled by my No. 1 letter which arrived in the evening. My only feeling is that your imagination works overtime on things which might make you miserable and unbelieving and undertime on things that might make you happier. If ever something arises about which I feel very strongly that you are acting unwisely, I shall tell you unmistakeably.

The ‘bursting' feeling that you mention I have in varying degrees, and there are times when I feel desperate for you, for your flesh, for your body, for your breasts. Always I long to feel you, but I have my ‘peaks' of wishing for you.

Glad you like the numbering system.

I am sorry about your bomb troubles. Please tell me all about them, as they occur to you. I shall not comment on them as I do
not want to start repeating horrors ‘at' you. I suppose your bad ‘sleeps' are inevitable. I wish I could come to you in your sleep and drive your nasty shadows away.

We shall never know if, really, we have met ‘a bit late'. Perhaps it is a fluke that we have come together. I am hoping that we are going to make the best of it. There are years and years and years ahead of us. Probably we shall be able to recollect our present correspondence only as a small part of our happiness.

Although I may be able to wangle it somehow, I shall perhaps be forced very soon to destroy some of your letters, the great majority, actually, as it is space which I must consider. I am sorry about this. Please, forgive me, but probably I should have had to do it sometime, anyhow. I shall not forget any of the things you have told me. I shall remember every embrace, every endearment, every caress.

I love you.

Chris

28 July 1944

Dear Bessie,

I very much hope that you will have a wonderful time in Sheffield, as the surrounding countryside is very fine and you only need
good weather to ensure a good break. In any case it will seem grand to have real sleep, in a bed. I hope that you will dream of me …

I shall be pleased to receive the photo in due course, although I shall not be surprised to hear that you have had a lot of trouble getting it done. Phew! What a lot of room paper takes up. Today I hope to get a chance to burn your letters.

I am glad you thought No. 2 was a smasher – oh lucky mortal to be able to keep your letters. I am so sorry I must dispose of yours. I think I may ask you to send me a letter, which is only composed of the nicest sentiments and the most truly expressive phrases, so that I may always keep it with me, never have to dump it and can always pull it out and let me see what you think. Perhaps when I get settled, I will do the same for you, oh my Darling. I am so pleased that you are not feeling meek and mild. I am often just like a roaring lion. I want to roar, and bore into you. I want to feel you all over, touch you lovingly in secret places. For me, you are beauty, glory and delight. Please, my dear one, accept that as a profound meaningful declaration on my part, of deep desire for you, of real everlasting intention to be with you in all ways, and whatever may happen.