61st Recce Regt RAC
BLA.
Sept 25th
Chotie Darling,
Sorry I haven’t written to you for so long – but it’s simply been impossible, as we’ve been on the move all the time with practically no rest and plenty of work to be done.
Was glad to hear you’re still alive and kicking(!) after so strenuous a time – and that you’ve had a welcome break in meeting those friends. Scotland has her points I suppose, but I could never be enamoured with the country – altogether too bleak.
The countryside we’re now in is very pleasant tho’ much too flat. Most of the roads are made of red brick and this feature, coupled with the green moss which grows in between makes them very picturesque. The houses also differ vastly from those in France, as they are all brightly painted and so neat as to present a doll’s house appearance. The people are phlegmatic, stolid and less attractive than hitherto, being all of one type – blond and dull. They are, however, honest as the day is long, industrious and clean. Most of the townsfolk with some education speak English – very useful as my French is useless here.
Hope you’ve been a good girl in Scotland. From what I know of Scotland it must have been difficult….
How much weight have you lost? Not too much I hope; but still, I suppose you could always “recover” it before I come back…..
I’ve been trying to read Pamela Frankan’s “I meet farm people” – an autobiography, between halts on the road. Not very spectacular, and not comparable with ‘Micky’ Jacob’s or Ethel Mannin’s efforts in this line.*
Was pleased to hear the ‘pants’ arrived safely from home. Mother told me she sent them, but I entertained doubts as to their eventual arrival. Don’t get encouraged to show them off will you? I reckon I’ve got priority on them. What do you think?
Must close here, Darling, to censure about a hundred letters.
All my love, Chotie
Dicker
*Pamela Frankan was a lesser known novelist than the English actress and author Naomi ‘Micky’ Jacob or the British novelist and travel writer Ethel Mannin.
© Chotie Darling
Eric Postles remembers their position as rather more perilous: "Afterwards we moved into a deserted Driel, occupying riverside houses. We were under constant mortaring from the Germans on the other side of the river. I remember we found bottled fruit in a cellar, which was a welcome change of diet. The house we were in had a bath and we were able to soak in hot water.
From there we moved upstream into positions in a farmhouse by the Arnhem railway bridge, which after crossing the river passed down a high embankment. This marked the front line with the Germans on the other side of the embankment. One night they tunnelled under the embankment and got a patrol through into our positions so we called down artillery fire on them. The first three salvos fell short before they got their range. The last of the three fell in the orchard where Corporal Martindale and I were, blowing me over and stunning me. He carried me into the farmhouse and it was found that I had a hole in my greatcoat where a piece of shrapnel had passed through. Luckily it hit the compass in my trouser pocket putting it out of action but leaving me with no more than a few bruises." (Extract from ‘My War Years’ by John Eric Postles ISO used by kind permission of the author.)
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