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Extracts from Arthur Allvey’s letters to his wife, Gladys, September 1945

24-9-44 I’m glad to say that I am fairly well except for a cold… The weather has been bad and as we were out in the open I suppose the downpour brought it on but now, fortunately, the C.P. is in a very superior building and I’m quite comfortable. This building was a college and is excellently furnished for our purposes with plenty of desks, tables etc and large rooms with electric lights still functioning.

I haven’t heard from you since I received your letter of the 13th but the mail is very erratic these days. I do hope everything is alright sweetheart… Just recently I note with regret the Germans have resumed launching flying bombs — I don’t know on what scale — and, of course, I am very anxious on your account my dear. I was not exactly surprised at this news because no doubt the Germans are taking the opportunity of loosing off as many bombs as possible before they lose the rest of the bomb sites. I wish that you were sleeping inside the shelter dearest — I don’t think you should take any unnecessary risks since the danger is obviously not yet past.

27-9-44 This is quite a brief note to let you know that I am well darling and my cold is almost gone… I am still without a letter from you since the 13th and am anxiously awaiting news from you but all mail is in the same way just now and nobody is getting any so I feel sure there are letters on the way to me.

The weather remains foul with much rain and it’s very unpleasant in consequence but, luckily, I am still under cover.

I managed to find a barber today and took advantage of the fact. He had no barber’s shop but operated from his flat; it was a very small place with a large lamp shade reaching about five feet from the floor and most inconvenient I thought. However he gave me a good haircut. Apparently all they had to eat was bread and cockles since his three small boys were making their meal off of these. The stories of the famished condition of the peoples on the continent seem to be borne out for the first time here as the people really seem to lack food. Each meal sees a collection of civilians of all ages surrounding our cookhouse and they eagerly eat up any scraps left on our plates. One can’t imagine them doing this unless through extreme necessity.

Well darling there is little else that I can say for the time being. I do so hope that everything is o.k. at home and you aren’t having any flying bombs. What is it like now you’ve dispensed with the blackout?

30-9-44 I was very glad to receive yesterday your two letters dated 17th and 20th and to hear that everything is alright dearest… I’m awfully sorry to hear that you cut your hand on the splintered glass embedded in the armchair …

I’m surprised to hear that, despite the relaxation of the blackout, very few people are taking advantage of the fact but I suppose they are all in the same position as you and have few ordinary curtains by them. However the need for blackout will soon be entirely obviated I’m sure and then the lights will blaze out again and everyone will be happy.

You were correct in your assumption as to my position when I wrote the letter in question. However, in this country the unfortunate people are far worse off for food and a packet of biscuits or anything else that we can spare from our rations is a Godsend to them. Money is plentiful here but it’s of little use to them since there’s scarcely anything they can buy with it unless they buy through the black market which is particularly active here, and was, originally, fostered by the Germans to their considerable profit.

I have received the papers you sent me and was shocked at the serious damage Beckenham has sustained.

I am now situated in a very strange place — stranger than any of my previous locations which include: farmhouses, barns, ditches, holes in the ground, a hospital (evacuated, of course), a flour mill, a castle, and an academy — namely, a conservatory. The plants have been removed though in the adjoining room are a collection of palms and eucalyptus plants. The room we occupy is square and lofty with brick walls, whitewashed on the interior, an a glass frame in the centre of the ceiling. The floor is of loose, sandy soil with a kind of wooden grill alongside the walls beneath which are the pipes which supply the necessary heat. These are quite comfortable quarters there being a garage nearby which we use to sleep in. Outside the conservatory — C.P. — are gardens and greenhouses, the former used for growing vegetables, the latter containing foreign plants — cacti and the like.

You may have noticed in the papers that we recently captured a vast quantity of German rations. Well we are living on these chiefly but I prefer our own. There are tinned mutton cutlets, very fatty, a kind of Dutch cheese which isn’t very palatable, butter, which is better than our margarine, jam in solidified blocks and coffee. Apart from these German rations we have been living chiefly on fresh rations instead of the compo rations which I’ve described to you in earlier correspondence….

Unfortunately I am always dreaming at night and never seem to get a really peaceful night’s sleep. Of course at least one night in two I am on duty and only manage to get a little sleep between targets and am all the time on the qui vive for fire orders.

Our corps General paid us a visit today and addressed us, complimenting us on the work we have done.

3-10-44 I am, as I say, quite well physically, but have an ache in my heart caused by my longing for you. There was a day when I discredited the things I read about others’ heartaches and spiritual ailments but I find that these complaints are more keenly felt, more poignant, than the physical pains. Ah well darling, the war will end soon and then we’ll be together again for all time and we’ll always be happy.

The weather is still bad and rain is abundant…. A club for other ranks has been opened in a large building in this town; it formerly housed a theatre and the theatre itself is used as a cinema whilst the foyer is a canteen and the other rooms are used as games rooms and writing rooms etc. In the canteen one obtains, free of charge, a cup of tea, a cake, and a cigarette; also one may buy all the usual canteen stores. The cinema is likewise free. This morning I had some time free — I’d been on duty over night — so went to the Services Club and saw the picture ‘Rosy O’Grady’ in technicolour — not a very good film but it passed the time away. Then I had a cup of tea and a cake in the canteen and a bar of Cadbury milk chocolate. This milk chocolate is marked ‘For export only’ and we aren’t allowed to send home chocolates or sweets or you should have some darling.

In the newsreel I saw some vivid pictures of the flying bombs and saw a number of them destroyed by A.A. gunfire and other means.

On Sunday our padre held a service in a monastery which had formerly been used by the Germans and they had left behind some queer writings on the walls, e.g., ‘After the service soldiers may drink in the canteen with a joyous heart’ and ‘Life is eternal though we must die’.

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