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Every day I wrote to my husband. I would tell him about Audrey and the things we did together such as visiting relatives, having a game of ludo, snakes and ladders or dominoes. I wrote just any little bits of trivia to fill up my letter. I gave him daily accounts of the lilac tree in the corner, the snowdrops appearing on the rockery. He used to tell me that all this kept the men at the front sane. How eagerly the soldiers clamoured for letters from home. When he received a letter from Audrey in her childish hand, he was delighted and he would write back in script. I still have most of these letters.

I followed him from the day he was on a troopship for Normandy — How the ship stood offshore and the men had to wade to the beach. They put their cigs etc in their top pockets, tied their boots around their necks and waded to shore, the water up to their armpits. The dunes were littered with soldiers seeking their own units. They were dive bombed and everything was chaotic.

We had a secret code that enabled me to know roughly how his battalion was progressing. My husband’s letters had only a BFPO for an address and any reference to a name, place or piece of information was censored by the officer in charge. I followed them through to the Baltic Sea.

Once, when they were in Holland and wanted cash for a night out, they had an auction and sold everything they could lay their hands on in the carrier. They made enough for a night out — A very rare occasion.

The letters he wrote to me gave a vivid description of life at the front — I have included the text of a couple.

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Just a short note — in a hurry as usual. I have seen quite a bit more of France since I last wrote, but this time from a tank. Unfortunately, you can’t see much, only through a periscope but it’s better than being exposed. In one way you feel safe, especially from the smaller crackers; although on the other hand, you are a bigger, slower target.

Once again, we were targets for flowers and even butter which was brought in cabbage leaves. At one place, I got in conversation with a French family and they told me some grim tales (all in French but they made us understand). Some of the things were stood over them with machine guns while they dug trenches for the Germans. Then they shot a boy of twenty in the head, burnt their house down and everything in it. I saw all this — (trenches and house). We gave them a few tins of food and were invited into a house where there were about thirty people living and sleeping — ( all ages). It surprised us how well they all agreed and some of them were complete strangers. They gave us lovely pears and apples and burgundy wine. In fact they made a great fuss.

There are some shocking and pitiful sights. One young woman had a huge cart and she was pulling it along full of stuff and two young children and two mites, one Audrey’s age, were trying to push all through the pouring rain. All this along with mined roadsides and hundreds of army vehicles tearing past. Another sight to see was the people go out into the fields to wait while tank battles take place in their village, but they smile and cheer at us.

I have a letter of yours to answer, I got it two days ago (with one from Alice and Mother), so I will try to answer it.

We have had plenty of rain just lately but I have managed to keep dry. No! I don’t suppose I shall see Paris. The news is very good isn’t it? Well, love, I did enjoy your letter and am eagerly awaiting the next. (This part of the letter tells me he is near the River Seine). I am glad that you met Sally Emerson in North Elmsall, you would enjoy the gossip. (The letter continues) I will have to write to Audrey next time as I have no paper and less time. I am glad she liked her handkerchief etc. One of my pals was killed yesterday, a driver — he got blown up by a mine in a quad. He was a widower with four children, one mentally deficient. It is a tragedy isn’t it. They will be orphans now. He was a nice chap too. Well, love, I must close down now my paper is done and I’ve just found out I haven’t an envelope so I don’t know when I shall be able to post this.
Etc, etc……

Jack

May 3rd 1945 1079805 Gnr J Carrington

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Never in history was there a day like yesterday, never has anyone seen the like before or-will ever again. The whole German Army is capitulating.

Sweetheart, the war is over, or will be in a very short time from now. I could write a book about it all. I don’t even know where to start; it is like a dream, fantastic. I can’t tell you how I feel now. I could cry, get drunk or go crazy. Don’t think I am going mad but I can’t express my feelings.

Yesterday, we advanced miles at lightning speed after crossing the Elbe in a Buffalo (amphibious tank) a few days ago. As I write, there are Jerries passing, not in ones and twos, but in tens of thousands have gone by in a continual stream since yesterday morning, mingled with thousands of women and children in every type of conveyance — trucks, cars, lorries, guns, semi-armoured vehicles, bicycles, dog carts, barrows, ambulances, every mortal thing — they fear the Russians will get them and they prefer to be in English hands.

Imagine when we came up yesterday — one carrier with four people in and we passed through thousands of Jerries. As they went through, they threw their arms away or tried to throw them into the carrier. We had a job to get through for cluttered roads of horse drawn vehicles. Soldiers on horseback, even dog carts.

Naturally, we were scared — we could have been wiped out in a split second. We had to fire at one chap who was running away but he stopped and surrendered.

Next, we pulled up on a crossroads and from three directions they still came in droves. We were at least an hour moving them on until the roads were choc full and nobody could move. We collected pistols, rifles and every weapon under the sun. The officers (German) came up in an orderly fashion and put their arms on a pile. The officers came up, clicked their heels to attention, bowed slightly, gave up their pistols and bayonets handle first to me — most impressive. Hundreds of items I could tell you but I haven’t time and I’m too excited to write clearly.

We saw hundreds of liberated English and Yanks and talk about pleased to see each other. We just about embraced each other. It was a thrill.

Oh I could go on forever my mind is in a whirl. I’m going to close for now. I haven’t written to anyone else so show this letter around. I will write again soon when I am more stable in mind. There’s absolutely thousands of pounds worth of stuff laid about; the road is full. All I want now is to come home. Keep you fingers crossed and keep smiling.

Cheerio now…..

Jack.

Letter to daughter, Audrey, written just after hostilities ceased.

Dear Audrey,

I am at a new place now and left Frank behind. He will no doubt be in England now, so he is lucky in a way. I haven’t any interesting news. All the children round here call the soldiers ‘Uncle’ and stand around the cookhouse door with bags hoping to get some food given to them. I hope you had a lovely holiday; it will be over now. Did you have nice weather and get sunburnt? It’s rained heavy for days here.

I will close now. A big cuddle and heaps of kisses.

God Bless and love,

Daddy

XXXX

Jack Carrington survived the war although he was wounded in the shoulder and leg and spent some time in hospital in Bayeux. His many letters home are in the safekeeping of his daughter, Mrs Audrey Reilly.

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