Chapter Text
The Matter of Dearling
T-
26th December 1942
Dear Sam
I hope you and Dad are both still well and that you had an excellent remainder of Christmas Day. How was your Carp for dinner? I am still rather suspicious of the idea, surely they would taste muddy?
As regards my Christmas, the rooster was very tasty – mock Christmas pudding, not quite so good- but it was an attempt at a pudding and I'm inclined to blame the recipe rather than the cooking. It was very very good of them to splash the rations a little with the dried fruit.
Your parents were very pleasant to me, your mother even seemed lively, so I don't think I got on their toes too much, apart from the grand faux-pas of not calling you 'Samantha', Miss Johnson was there as well, thanks you for her card, and said she was sending a letter to you. I like her Sam, and I can see why you do too. Little else to report of note, except that I have passed your praise on to Sep, regarding the card, and he was glad to hear you liked it so – think he thought I was a bit daft when I was asking him to draw it. Or perhaps smitten – which fact I declare to be entirely true, Sam.
Hoping you, and we here, will have a nice quiet time into the New Year.
All my love always
Andrew
31 Steep Lane
Hastings
Sussex
27th December 1942
Dear Andrew
This may quite likely cross with a letter from you. Your father and I are both well, he is also a writing a letter, you will probably get two in the same post. No doubt you will ask about Christmas, I can report that the Carp was quite tasty, no where near as strange as might be expected. Rather bony, and a bit fiddly because of it, but we were forewarned and had spare plates set for the bones. It was probably helped by the lemon (gift from the Americans, fiercely guarded). It was very nice to have Divischek with us, you and he would definitely get on. Apparently, in Czechoslovakia the Christmas Meal is late on Christmas Eve, and so a proper dinner, rather than Christmas Day. Neither your father or I could actually explain why ours is when it is, me least of all, but Czech Christmas Dinner is certainly a worthy replacement to a non-existent turkey or Goose, we avoided Sardine rolls at least. I am still jealous of you getting one of Mrs Lurkin's chickens however.
Did I ever tell you that there was a Turkey in the station? It had been confiscated from a restaurant - black market stuff. I think it was sent to the WVS for their refugees and canteen I never got to eat any of it, more's the pity. That said, your father would have been furious with me if I had ended up with some, he was in favour of it begin kept properly as evidence. Because of fairly obvious practical reasons, it seems there was a compromise to escape the waste
I'm enclosing with this letter the other print of Wing Commander Turner's photograph, for you to have with you at Tangmere. It was very nice, probably officially cheeky and certainly extravagant for him to take that for us.
Sending it with all my love,
Your wife
Sam
T-
2nd January 1943
Dearest Sam
Happy New Year, dearling! Here's hope it's a good one, and maybe the war will be over by next Christmas- perhaps it will even be over before your birthday, or our anniversary at a tight pinch. Well, we can only hope, I suppose. We've had a quiet new year here, as regards the Luffs, but Tonk-Tonk did us proud musically in the evening, and Bellermy can sing, quite well actually. 'Fun was had all-round' would, I believe the the technical term if there was a report in the newspapers about it. Some would probably say a bit too much fun.
The lads had a good chuckle about the name of my Christmas Dinner when I told them- they think Mrs Lurkin has a top sense of humour. It certainly brightened the mood after Johno's horrific tale of the carrot marmalade served at his home, apparently it is quite as horrible as it sounds, even worse than ersatz coffee, which is at least bearable, just not actually coffee
Thank you for the picture print enclosed with yours of 27th , it is already framed and on the bed-side table. I wish I'd got Turner to take one of you alone, you looked so smart, but I was too startled by the mere possibility of photographs, amongst other things, to think of it at the time.
Of course we can't have photos with us when we're flying (security reasons, I wish we could), but it's nice to know you're there waiting for me when I get back, after a fashion.
My love, dearling, always.
Your Andrew
P.S. If This letter seems to have become rather mawkish, please blame the New Year in toto
31 Steep Lane
Hastings
Sussex
6th January 1943
Dear Andrew
Our New Year was certainly quieter than yours seems to have been. We listened to the radio for a while, and I sat up until the turn of the year. Your father, worse luck, had a fire-watch over the night but at least we got Christmas free of that.
There was a very interesting programme looking back at the last year, on the general vein that things are getting better in a military sense. So we can turn our hearts and feet forward into the new with that in our thoughts at least. We're a persevering country of people, we've made it so far, we shall just keep going. It was so lovely to hear the Christmas Bells again, church bells twice in two moths, oh what a strange thing to find a luxury- especially for me.
Work has superficially settled back down after the Milner incident, but as with all things, I think all the ripples will take time to calm- the mere happening was quite a shake to the station, the solution yet another to what is left of the core. Disloyal to the chain of command it may be, but I wish your father had been at the helm for this one, not Meredith. At least your father knew Milner's character, that it wouldn't be possible for him to do something like that. But I am digressing, and I really shouldn't write this on paper, I will explain it all in one go when we are next together in person, which is far easier than bits and bobs on paper (or committing the whole thing, which probably isn't prudent either).
I am glad the picture got there safely, and that your boys are in good heart. Mrs Lurkin has a quiet but bright sense of humour, viz. the naming of the chickens, which I think is more than fair game, a little of getting our own back- as far as we can on the ground. Petty some might say, but satisfying. Women at a factory we visited recently had christened their manager 'Adolf' in revenge for his attitude. The resemblance visually was also quite uncanny.
Somehow that is the end of my writing paper, so I hope you have enjoyed all this inconsequential chatter, instead of a proper letter.
Sending this with all my love, ever and always
Your
Sam
P.S 'Dearling', Andrew? I assumed I had misheard over the phone, or that you accidentality blurred your words. However normally your spelling is good. Perhaps more evidence of New Year?
With love, nonetheless
S.
T-
10th January 1943
Dear Sam
Let us indeed hope that the was the upwards turn in the war and it winds to it's end, that would be positive. The papers we get look hopeful too in that regard
Glad to hear a good report from you, Dad in his letter seems to be getting on well with his fire watch crew-mates. I know he likes his own peace and quiet, but I'm sure he must miss Reid and Milner's company during the day. Nor does he get yours, as you're out on duty. You really must explain what really has been going on soon, hints are nearly worse than no mention.
Can now say post-fact that weather, and thus the flying has been good over here. Up in the blue, in the Spit, It's like you have the wings yourself, not simply in a plane. I remember that promise I made you, when you were ill that time, and one day, I'll manage it, I promise.
Regards 'Dearling'- you heard correct, and neither I have forgotten how to spell, nor was I alcoholically affected. You are a dearling, quite your own thing.
With the entire of my love
my own DEARLING
- “Something funny?” Mr Foyle, Kit's voice floated across the fireplace lightly, Sam found herself closing the letter a little, tucking the folds a bit closer to her, even as she looked back at him, gave her head a slight shake “Oh, just Andrew being a bit daft.”
Mr Foyle, Kit, nodded slightly, and dropped his head to his own letter “At least he's in good spirits.”
She turned her eyes back to the letter-
Your husband
Andrew
P.S. Never apologise for any letter, I'm just pleased to hear your voice on the page (I trust that is not a contradiction of fact).