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September 16 1940. Monday. Cambridge.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I hope by now that you have all got over the disappointment of my leave.
We had a lovely time in town. It’s a big town, very clean and on London’s lines, with big marble buildings and fine modern and ancient architecture. After I phoned we all went to the YMCA and what a fine place it is.
I hope you can read this letter. I’m having a tussle. It’s written by the light of a dim oil lamp that has to light our marquee up. That’s the worst of it here. We can’t write in comfort. There’s no table nor electric light; but other things make up for it. The food for instance. I’m sure we’re doing better than you can, because there’s no rationing here.
I’ve just done my second day in the cookhouse. I’ll be as fat as Teddy brown with brewing morning tea and eating odd pieces of apple tart and spare sausages.
.
We’ve been busy changing tyres on all the lorries, cars and trucks, and putting all new tracks on the tanks, ready for this weekend, because they should be off by then. After they have gone we’ll see about our leave. So until then I will have to say goodnight this way. Goodnight and God bless you all, also Auntie Ethel and family. Cheerio from Alb. Xxx.

September 21 1940. Sat afternoon. Cambridge.
Dear Mother and Dad,
I received your letter on Thursday. When I rang up on Sunday night it cost 1/4, but I think I told you all about it in my last letter.

I thought it would be easier getting leave now that we’ve finished our training, but it’s just as hard as at Tidworth, if not harder. One of our chaps’ wives had a baby last Sunday, and her father sent three telegrams for him to come home at once, and after 6 days he’s finally got his leave.
. They’re a great set of chaps nere, all honest and willing, perhaps willing because there’s very little work to be done, but we can leave anything lying about and it will not walk.
Well, Mother there’s no news here’ it’s like the lost patrol, except when we get down town.
The tyres we were changing last week and this week weighed 1¼ cwt, fairly big what! There were 180 changed altogether, and the tank tracks weigh just 1 ton each. boots.
I must close now, so cheerio all. Love from Alb. Xxx.

September 25th. Wed 4.30 pm. Cambridge.
Dear Mother and Dad,
I had your letter last night, but couldn’t answer it until now, because we left the tent flaps open with the lamp lit after blackout on Monday and the Serg major has taken the lamp off us for punishment, so we’re in the dark now. It won’t last long though. I’ve heard we’re going to move into billets this weekend how true it is I don’t know.
Cambridge is a lovely place, far better than Tidworth. I’m going down town tonight to the Regal. There’s a good picture on called N W Passage.
They had their first real raid on Monday, only 4 bombs were dropped and the damage was practically nil. There’s one thing about us, we always go to safe places. We hear the planes fly over us nearly every night on their way to military objectives and such.
There’s still no news about leave and I think we will get in to billets before we have any now.
The tanks drink the petrol, I went out in one this morning and did 30 miles. This afternoon we filled up with 32 gallons. That’s one mile, one gallon. The drivers let them tick over for half hours at a time. It makes me nearly cry to see hundreds of gallons wasted every week.
Well, Mother, I must close and get ready for tea and the pictures afterwards. I’ll let you know when or where we move to as soon as I know definitely.
. I’m feeling champion, for now From your loving son Alb. Xxx.

September 28, 1940. Sat. C/o Mrs Loake
Church Road, Cottingham, Market Harborough, Leics.
Dear Mother and DAd,
It’s just like being on a holiday. I’m here with my pal, Bob, from Trent Vale, and we’re both writing letters, sitting by a brook. Far away from roads and noise. We’re in another part of the country where there are no raids. The villagers have rarely heard a bomb or AA fire.
.

I’m billeted in a house where there are Father, Mother, 2 sons and a girl, all grown up and working, with the exception of Mrs Loake they all work in the steel works. We’re having a very easy time, there’s nothing for us to do. We have a parade at 9 am. The officer tells us what news there may be, such as if we want to go to town at night and what the bounds are, if we go for a walk. He inspects us and asks if there are any complaints or queries. At 9.10 we’re free for the day.
8 of us have come here. We’re called the advance party. The object being to reserve the village for a unit, and the officer pointed out this morning that it may not be our unit so we may be moved again in a week or so’s time, then again we may not. I’ll ring up again if we are to be moved, but we will be here for at least a week.
Bob and I went to Kettering last night. We had a struggle to get the lorry to start, the battery was flat and it took us half an hour to start it with the handle. That made us late in getting back, but we were excused by Mrs Loake.
As you will imagine, there’s a nice big church at the top of our street and I’ve been invited to go tomorrow. Bob and I will be there with the Corporal and Officer, the other four are not interested.
.
By the way, there’s only one collection a day at 3.20 in the afternoon. Well, I must close and go to dinner now. Good Morning, Mum, Dad, and Levi,
from Alb. Cheerio and no raids. Xxx.

September 29 1940. c/o Mrs Loake
Church Road, Cottingham, Market Harborough. Leics.
Dear Mother and Dad,
I’m having a day in today, the weather is rotten, it’s done nothing but rain all day.
As I was getting ready for church this morning, the Corporal came up the yard and asked us how long it was since we had a leave, etc. I tried to get to know why he wanted this information, but he could only say that a week’s leave was on the way, he had no idea when. We’ve been issued with rifles again, this time with 50 rounds. I believe there’s a shortage of revolvers and pistols.
Mrs Loake looks after us like a Mother. When I came back from town last night it was 7.30, and she asked if I had had anything to eat. I said I could manage, but she would go and get me my tea. We don’t know there’s a war on. Well Bob has just come for me to go out, so I hope to see you in the near future.
Cheerio to all at home. From Alb. xxx.

October 2 1940. Wed 12.30. Cottingham.
Dear Mother and Dad,
I have had your letter this morning. There’s only one delivery at 7.30 am. I’m well fixed for phones. There are 2 kiosks nearby, the post office next door and one at my mates’ house and another where two more of our chaps are living.
We’re having more of a holiday than anything else. There’s only been 3 or 4 hours work done since we’ve been here and that was yesterday.
My mate and myself have been doing plenty of hiking. We’ve visited 8 different villages and 2 towns.
The nearest big town is Kettering. It’s a lovely place with 7 cinemas and several markets. There’s a smaller town, only 3 or 4 miles away, called Corby. It’s the image of Etruria, with steel works, gas works and plenty of smoke and dirt. It smells good too. The name of the steel works is Stewart and LLoyds. I don’t know if any of the Shelton chaps know anything about it.
I haven’t had any post from Cambridge; it may come with the battalion, or on the other hand, it may get lost. I’m sorry about Uncle Bill writing to there. I hope he didn’t send any money because I shall never see it. Anyway we’ll have to wait and see what turns up.
I’m having champion meals. I don’t know how Mrs Loake manages. She has six men to look after, her grown up daughter and herself. She has to get us a hot dinner at noon and her own family one at night when they come home. She does a great lot of work and enjoys it. She’s typical of all the villagers, they’re all pleasant and willing. Bob and I have had 2 invitations out, one at the local schoolmaster’s home, and the other at the maid’s mother’s. Where the driver stays, there’s a maid and she has a widowed mother in the village. Apart from those two, we can stop at my mate’s people’s house or Mrs Loake’s house, any night we have nothing to do.
While we’ve been hiking, seven motorists have pulled up to offer us a lift, but as we were doing it for pleasure, we turned them down. I’ve never come across a greater set of people. On Monday, you ought to have seen us. Two of the chaps were driving cattle through the village, two others were making a hay rick. Bob and I were stripping apple trees in an orchard; the officer and corporal were out shooting with a gentleman farmer.
I feel sorry the rest of the Regiment have to come here. We’re living like lords and everyone wishes us good morning or whatever it may be.
I’ve just had dinner of rabbit pie, vegetables and custard pie. All our meals are perfect, we have as much as we like.
On Monday I had a bit of pike (fish). The eldest son is a keen fisherman and managed to catch a big pike so we fried it and had it for tea. It’s the first time we tasted it and it’s quite good.
Tell Dad not to get worried about the chap who stopped you on Sunday night during the raid. He was only showing off. When we were on guard at Cambridge it was at the entrance of an estate and we had orders to stop all motorists that went past on the main road. Well, my mate and myself hardly ever stopped one, while some would try to swank and stop every one, especially women and girls, whether on bikes or in cars, and demand their identity cards, then cross-examine them. They try to make themselves look big, but I’m afraid they must be obeyed, even if there’s no need to.
When these chaps come off guard they have tales to tell. How they put the breeze up such and such a woman and how scared so-and-so was when asked for an identity card. As regards lights on vehicles, you should see the army vehicles. For the rear lamp they have any colour, maybe, white, green, red, blue, pink, mauve or yellow, and more often then not they have two rear lamps, so you can’t tell whether it’s coming or going. If they are blue or green, then the slot that should light the number plate is sometimes upside-down and forms a kind of search light. Then some lorries have none at all. So the world goes round and round. I shouldn’t stop next time because nobody will ever know who you are.
Well, I must close now. I’m OK for money (25/-) and everything. Don’t bother about sending papers, thanks. I have the Express, Mail and herald. I should say Mr Loake has them, but we all read them we never have any air-raids here, not even warnings. Well cheerio to you all, from Alb. xxx.

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