My Dear Bessie Read online

  I received No. 9 today, which I presume is No. 95 written 10/12. Though I was schooling myself to wait a week, I still kept my eye on the mat; you can’t imagine my feelings at receiving the unexpected, and what a lovely unexpected, you Dear Dear Man. I never appeal in vain, when I so need you just that little bit more than usual, you come back at me with such a rush of warmth and understanding, somehow you leave me speechless, to be able to say just the very things I want to hear, and so beautifully. You really are a poet, it moves me to the vision of beauty – us in tomorrow. Christopher, you Darling, my heart is bursting. You have soothed me, caressed me, in such a lovely way, I gasp and gasp at the wonder of you, that you should have sensed so much.

  You do not know how much these words meant to me: An England that I knew, and in my fashion loved’. I needed those words from you, more than anybody.

  I shouldn’t really feel anxious about your possible conduct while you are away, because we love so much, we do really care. I know it’s just as unthinkable for you as it is for me, my heart is in Greece and nothing else can touch it, but I know of so many people whose lives have gone awry it’s a bit horrifying, and I think you might feel tempted in a lonely moment. I don’t mean cheap temptations. No, as I write that, I don’t believe it, because like me you don’t allow the situation to arise, there can’t be temptation when all your heart and mind and body is straining to somebody so far away. No I won’t worry further. We are one, we really do care, in each other we can rise above the second rate, you make me feel that. You do brighten the scene, indeed you do, we will, will it so, in those future days, grand days – we trust. Oh we do trust, Chris.

  To go out together – knowing that we shall go home together, knowing that we shall pass the night together – to go out together knowing that – I think of that so often, really just belonging – that makes my inside sing, to be together so that I can answer your demands, make my own, just put my arm around you at any time, sometimes in public, would that embarrass you? I know it’s rather a possessive thought, but I do feel rather proud that you are mine. I could be rather blatant over that in front of your friends. Am I being too awful, but I can’t help that proud elated feeling. To put it baldly, you are a wonderful catch. I want everybody to know you are mine. How do you feel, Christopher, do you feel caught? Joy oh Joy. Nobody else matters really, it’s just one of the joys on the side.

  I have got to get down to dashing off some letters, and contacting a few people. I have solved one by telephone today, I hope to solve a couple more by telephone, another by a visit, and the rest will have to be letters. Have given up present giving with my pals by mutual consent, thank goodness. In the end it becomes a racket, much too wearing to keep up, most of ’em can’t afford it, so found it kinder to cut it out. It’s most awkward this business of being unable to give people anything without they must return it, most natural I suppose, but difficult with present financial straits. Funny how people get the urge at Xmas time for a holocaust of present giving. You should see the crowds in town, all trying to buy what isn’t there. Perhaps it’s just a day out for them. Dear oh dear what a game.

  I wonder how you will spend Xmas, I guess I should feel different if you were here.

  Oh! Darling, I Love You.

  Bessie

  On the day this letter was written, Chris Barker was stationed in Athens’ Hotel Cecil. He awoke to shouts from ELAS (the Greek People’s Liberation Army), of ‘Surrender comrades, we are your friends.’ He wrote in his notebook: ‘At 11.30, ELAS started serious attack: shells, Bren, rifle, mortar. The last was quite frightening … Mortars started firing and got very close … Panic in the passage. “Close the door!” The Bren gunner still outside … got more ammo, then with Bert and Jack sat on the first floor landing. Ordered downstairs, then upstairs again. Bofors or dynamite through end passage. Much glass falling under shelling … Then, suddenly, “Cease Fire!” Joyously, all over the building the cry was taken up …

  ‘Came downstairs, laid down our warm weapons and was greeted by long-haired partisans, with “Hail, Comrades!” during the dark hour, before dawn.

  ‘Led away in small parties while above us the Spits (Spitfires) looked wonderingly on … Walk about 4 miles to a mansion. Lady partisans. Lovely, interested and approving. Water and 2 ozs of bread. Then about 15 mile march through the woods and forest glades. Led away to a mountain fastness blindfolded.’

  6

  Not Bournemouth

  21 January 1945

  Dearest,

  Not having heard from Deb that your folks have heard anything, I am hanging on to the old old theory that no news is good news. The papers and wireless say that the exchange of prisoners of war has commenced, am hoping that this affects you, gosh I hope so badly. Churchill said in his speech that prisoners would be coming home and that the truth would come out, just supposing this also affects you. Is that too much to hope – to come home, to see you after all this worry, if it only could be true? I hope you aren’t hurt or ill, that you have been warm and at least had enough to eat, feel sure you haven’t been overfed, for they haven’t enough for themselves.

  Oh Darling, perhaps it won’t be too long before I hear, I wonder how long the exchange will take. They do fiddle so, over these sort of things.

  What thoughts have you been having during all this long time? About Greece, I mean. I would so like to know, for it is such a muddle, politicians lie so glibly about such important things; doesn’t make post war years look very hopeful.

  Just another missive, Christopher Darling. Keep safe.

  I Love You.

  Bessie.

  24 January 1945

  My dear Bessie,

  Technically this is my second day of Freedom though I have only just got off the truck which has carried Bert and myself through the cold Greek mountains over tracks that once were roads, and now, with the thaw, are becoming quagmires. The most satisfactory journey of my life. Now, the warm hands of the British Army are about us and we are as comfortable as possible.

  The great worry of my non-arriving letters probably cannot be effaced from your ‘system’. I must have added many grey hairs to those you have already. But now you can stop worrying, and get drunk tonight with easy conscience. (I have happily gulped two rum issues since I was released.)

  Will write you very fully later. Use the usual address, and be sure I shall write as often as I am able. Our future moves are a matter of conjecture. Most of the optimists think we will be coming home. If you think we should there is nothing to stop you writing to the Prime Minister, suggesting our return to allay relatives’ anxiety.

  Forgive this note. I hope you are well and undisturbed by aerial terrors.

  I love you.

  Chris

  26 January 1945

  Dearest,

  I have studied all the newspapers, but there isn’t any references to prisoners in Greece. The New Statesman is still banging away on behalf of the EAM, and Sir Walter Citrine* is talking a lot of muddled unfathomable stuff about atrocities, so still don’t know whether the censor is having all his own way. Surely there will be something in the press when prisoners are exchanged. A few small exchanges have been made, but nothing about the 600 prisoners that the RAF have been dropping supplies to. Unless I have missed something in a corner – don’t think so. Oh!

  Darling, what a day when I get a letter from you – telling me that you are alright, and maybe coming home. I wonder so much, wonder if one day I shall come home and find you – in person, on the mat – just dreams, of course. I went out with Deb, Lil and Iris, to a theatre last night. It was a good play with Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne, so that made me forget for a bit, but somehow I can’t manage to keep my mind on any conversation. I am no stimulating companion these days, more of a wet blanket I fear, though I do my best. Where oh where are you Christopher my Darling? Days have become weeks and still no news. I can’t settle down to read, not even in the train, so I am knitting up into vests the spurned coupon-
free cotton-cum-wool, instead of writing loving letters to you. Am I bottled up –

  I Love You.

  Bessie

  28 January 1945

  Dearest,

  The return to writing in ink (and with your pen) is an indication that things are a little more normal. We had a short sea trip from Volos to Athens where we are at present. I have only had a truck ride through the town at the moment. It seems very little damaged.

  Athens is only a temporary resting place for us. What happens depends on decisions already taken on what may be altered in the light of opinion. All the RAF personnel have been informed (in a printed Order which I have seen) that ‘– as soon as possible you are being returned to Italy and thence to England.’ It would be quite unfair for unequal treatment to be meted out to different Branches of the service who have suffered precisely the same, and I know that those at home will represent this view as forcibly as possible. RAF people concerned are ground men only. If all goes well we shall get home with the RAF, if present indications are any judge, and if nothing is done, we shall not.

  It is a little difficult for me to write very well when within me there is the jumping thought that soon – very soon – I may be actually telling you these things. But I will make some attempt and know you will not mind any deficiencies.

  I spent some bad hours lying with my brother in a shallow trench outside the hotel, while all sorts of fire was shot in our direction. Mortars were the worst, and when we returned to the hotel an hour before the surrender, we counted ourselves lucky to be alive. We were attacked for a day and a half. Well, when the ‘Ceasefire’ was given we laid down our warm weapons and came out with our hands raised (just like the pictures!) past a bearded partisan who pleasantly said ‘Hail Comrade.’ We lost everything. I had £7 or so on me, and my two most desired (I think) possessions – my Overseas Record of Events and my ‘Unfamiliar Quotations’. I still have them, and am delighted accordingly. I have just received your mail, 6 letters and four packets (2 coffee, 2 socks), a bit of luck as had they arrived before ‘the day’ they would have been lost. More about your dear letters later. I know how you must have suffered. But now it is alright. (The socks seem wonderfully well knitted. The photo was great.)

  We spent the first ten days marching. About 120 miles, through rain, snow, hail, at times; always very cold, always hungry. Our overcoats were taken, and we had no blankets. Jack Crofts, Bert, and I had terrible nights. No sleep, very cold. It was best during the day when we could get some warmth through keeping on the move. The three of us regard ourselves as fortunate in our experiences. Many chaps had very bad times, boots stolen (you can imagine how this affected one, stockinged feet in the snow), underclothes taken, trousers and blouse removed and very thin, ragged clothes given in exchange. You should be wary of believing all that you hear. Many chaps with small minds are anxious to be thought heroes or martyrs or something, and we had enough press correspondents to interview them all. Everyone has a ‘story’. Nevertheless, I must tell you that very few people take the same view of the ELAS as myself. As a matter of fact, most of my prisoner colleagues would like to shoot the whole of the Greek population.

  I will try to write you a nice connected letter in the course of the next few days. Until I do that, please excuse the absence of mail. Every scrap of personal kit, and ‘buckshee’ letter cards, went in the fiasco. But your letters must be very very small writing, for I cannot have enough of you, and I want you to tell me all about how you feel now. It’s a startling, thrilling, bumping thought to think we may be feeling each other shortly. There would be no doubt at all about early leave if I was in the RAF. Very quietly write your Member and Mrs Churchill urging equal treatment for all concerned.

  I have read your letters and been moved by your concern and the power of your love. Please have no worries concerning my condition. I am not as fit as I was, but my rheumatics are my only complaint and I shall soon control that.

  I hope you have been spared the worst of the rocket bombs, which (now that we see the newspapers again) were so active recently, and that your general health is as good as mine. I think of you. I think of you. I think of you. I will write as much as I am able, but bear with me as I have much to do.

  I love you.

  Chris

  29 January 1945

  My Dearest One,

  I have just heard the news that all the Army men captured by ELAS are to return to their homes. Because of the shipping situation we may not commence to go before the end of February, but can probably count on being in England sometime in March. It may be sooner. I have only just left our Major giving the signal as received from General Alexander. It has made me very warm inside. It is terrific, wonderful, shattering. I don’t know what to say, and I cannot think. The delay is nothing, the decision is everything.

  I must spend the first days at home, I must see Deb and her Mother. I must consider giving a party somewhere. Above all, I must be with you. I must warm you, surround you, love you and be kind to you. Tell me anything that is in your mind, write tons and tons and tons, and plan our time. I would prefer not to get married, but want you to agree on the point. In the battle, I was afraid. For you. For my Mother. For myself. Wait we must, my love and my darling. Let us meet, let us be, let us know, but do not let us, now, make any mistakes. I am anxious, very anxious, that you should not misunderstand what I have said. Say what you think, but please agree, and remember I was afraid, and I am still afraid.

  How good for us to see each other before I am completely bald! I have some fine little wisps of hair on the top of my head.

  It is not much good me trying to write about recent experiences now that I know that I shall be able to tell you everything myself within such a short time. I will tell you odds and ends in later LCs. What I have my eye on now is the first letter from you saying that you know I am alright, and the next, saying you know I am coming to you, right to you, to your wonder and your beauty, to your breasts. Plan a week somewhere (not Boscombe or Bournemouth) and think of being together.

  What a bit of luck I got taken POW. In my imagination I am with you now. When I was captive I used to try and contact you and think hard ‘Bessie, my dearest, I am alright. Do not worry.’ I never felt that I got through, somehow. But now it is over, and you know that I am alright and going to be with you soon, to join and enjoy. Do not get very excited outwardly. I am conscious of the inner tumult, the clamour, but I am not too much outwardly joyful. Moderation is my advice. Watch the buses as you cross the street.

  The time that will elapse before my departure will be spent mostly in Italy, where we shall be going, probably in about ten days’ time. There is much that I can bring, should you desire it. Can you let me know what I might try to bring?

  We are free of duties and yesterday I went to our friends in Athens, taking some of your coffee and cocoa, which they were very pleased to have. Thank you for sending it. We were embraced very excitedly, kissing and so on, continental fashion. We both had tales to tell.

  Later in the evening, having taken a letter into the Hotel Grand Bretagne earlier, I saw (with some colleagues) the TUC delegation – I thought it a good chance to present a fair account and (you may guess) impress the return of Army personnel on them. They were going to see to it upon return if necessary. Fortunately it is now not necessary. It was good to meet one’s ‘own people’ so far from home, and I felt happy to have thought of the idea and carried it out.

  If you feel like I do just at the moment, you feel, my darling, jolly good. The immediate future holds fine promise.

  I love you.

  Chris

  31 January 1945

  I am commencing to write this on board the ship which is to take me to Italy, from which country it will be posted. We have moved quickly, and I do not know how soon we shall actually be leaving Italy for home. We are intended as a great propaganda effort, and this may speed up things. I am keen to be another month, to allow me to collect things – and to avoid this v
ery bad weather which you are having at present! Isn’t it wonderful to think that, although I am not due home until August 1947, I am actually on the way to you now?

  I hope that you will not start buying any clothes (if you have the coupons left), because you think you ‘must look nice’ for me. I shall be sorry if you do. Just carry on as near as possible to normal. My return at the present time allows us to make public our mutual attachment. Deb’s letter told me of your phone call to her. To her, and to my family, I shall say something like this – ‘Bessie and I have been writing frequently to each other for a long time, we have a close relationship and a mutual understanding.’ I shall tell my family I hope to spend a week away with you somewhere during my leave. My counsel to you is to tell as few people as possible (you can ring Deb a few days after she gets her letter, which I shall post with this) and not go into the depths of anything. Be brief, don’t say what we plan or hope for. To someone like Miss Ferguson you can politely reply to her observations that you thought it was your business, rather than hers. Try to avoid preening yourself and saying much. This is my advice, not anything but that. I hope you understand. I do not ever want it to be anything but our affair. Do not permit any intrusion. I do not know how long leave I shall get. I could get as little as fourteen days, and I may get as much as a month. I hope you will be able to get a week’s leave without any trouble, and because of the position, you must more or less decide where we are to go.