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Extracts from Arthur’s Letters to his wife, Gladys, June — July 1944

18-6-44 I was pleased to receive two letters from you and am glad to hear that you are well. I’m also well and getting along quite alright so there’s nothing for you to worry about darling.

I’m afraid that my mail to you during the last week I was in England was very erratic in delivery owing to the fact that I was travelling here and there, and spent a time behind barbed wire with no communications with the outside world; the story having been released through the press about the measures taken for security I don’t think there’s any harm in telling you this fact. There was a cinema and a canteen in the camp and the food was good so conditions weren’t so bad, but, knowing that the invasion was due at any time, it became rather irksome and everybody was most enthusiastic when the day came.

I have already told you that we had a perfectly safe voyage and don’t think I’d better add to this statement yet by speaking of what I saw during the journey and landing.

At the moment the church bells are ringing and it’s rather like a peace time Sunday afternoon — a warm dull day with occasional shafts of sunshine from between the clouds. I suppose you will be enjoying more or less similar conditions on your side of the channel…

21-6-44 I hope that you are still well my darling and aren’t worrying about me because I’m quite all right and just now am in quite comfortable quarters under cover so that even though the weather isn’t very fine I don’t get wet as a rule. We have a fire alight day and night as it is somewhat cold at times, and I actually have a bed to sleep on. Of course these were here already — we didn’t include such things in our invasion kit. Altogether I’m a good deal more comfortable than when out on schemes in England so you must not get depressed…

I wonder whether there’s any change in England since the invasion — no doubt everybody is extremely pleased now that the so long awaited second front has been opened. I saw in the news that both the King and Churchill paid us a visit but I never saw either of them in France — Churchill passed me in a car whilst I was in a camp in England about a fortnight ago. Somehow it seems the most natural thing in the world to be here and already one seems to be a stranger to England and completely out of tune with conditions there. Of course, this may be attributed to the fact that our news from home is, on the average, 10 — 14 days late when we receive it; for example, plenty of papers reach us but today the latest newspaper in our possession is dated the 13th. Not that I complain about this — I am completely in agreement with the policy of using space on our craft for really necessitous traffic until such time as we’ve captured one or two ports from which we can import a certain amount of inessentials. Actually this invasion has been perfectly conceived down to the minutest details — e.g. we each received two 24 hour ration packs each about 6 inches x 5 inches x 2½ to cover the journey and any unforeseen delays but, in fact, there was no need to touch these as we had cooked meals provided the whole time; also we had two bags for use should inclement weather cause mal-de-mer among the troops and a small tin burner for boiling water for tea. Ever since landing there has been no shortage of food, compo rations arriving regularly each day and the food is good despite being tinned. Today, for instance, we had at breakfast — bacon, biscuits with margarine and jam, and tea; tiffin — stew, biscuits and jam, and tea; dinner — stewed meat, baked beans, potato cubes, fresh greens (and in regard to the last named, a complaint from the owner of the garden from which they were taken). The diet is very much the same each day although sometimes we have steak and kidney pudding (also tinned) and fruit puddings. In regard to other items I have plenty of tobacco, and [razor] blades and soap arrive once a week.

Unfortunately I’m extremely busy these days so really have not time, as a general rule, to write more than a brief note to let you know that I’m alright so I hope you’ll excuse these uninteresting letters. Furthermore, news relating to current events is forbidden and one is left with so little that may be put into a letter. I’m sure you’ll understand the necessity for this reticence sweetheart.

25-6-44 I hope you are well and cheerful my darling. I am pleased to tell you that I am perfectly fit and there’s nothing at all for you to worry about.

These two weeks that I’ve been here have been very fully occupied and we are all feeling tired but I definitely can say that good work is being done as the Nazis are far more tired than we are. The Americans are doing fine and there seems to be nothing now to prevent the capture of Cherbourg which will be of the utmost value to us. Also the news is excellent from all the other fronts.

The other day a lone pig was found and killed so, on the following day, we had liver fried with our bacon. The rest of the pig was handed over to the local mayor to feed the ‘starving’ population. Actually, in this part of Normandy, the people have plenty of food but I understand the Nazis found it expedient not to deny them a share in their products since, by doing so the peasants were induced to produce the utmost form the soil — a case of not spoiling the goose that laid the golden eggs. In the interior, according to report, there really is a terrible shortage of food. We manage to get plenty of fresh milk, butter and eggs. The other day I went along to a farm and bought about 6 pints of milk, waiting while the cow was milked by a French woman. One of our officers has some cocoa so we have hot cocoa every night and it’s made with milk only.

27-6-44 I’ve just received your letter of Monday, 19th June, so you’ll see that your letters are still arriving very late and so apparently are mine to you…. I should think that by now you’ve begun to receive my mail from this country. I’m afraid that just prior to my leaving England I wasn’t in a position to write a lot, both because of a rigid censorship and because, during this latter period until I reached the battery here, I was on the move and camped in odd places — one night in a wood, then two nights in the streets at the point of embarkation; then when, after two days voyage, I disembarked, I still had to potter around for a day or so before I joined the battery. I was then pretty busy but began writing to you again although my letters were awfully brief and sketchy. In fact, owing to security reasons, I couldn’t even inform you in my first letter that I was out of England and you can therefore imagine that it was extremely difficult to compose any sort of letter at all without letting the cat out of the bag.

I can understand how worried you’ve been feeling dearest, and am very sorry. However, I can assure you that we are definitely on top here, and the Nazis are getting well and truly tied up. Our aerial bombardment, plus the naval and other artillery, is devastating — Cherbourg has fallen so we now have a large docks through which we can send still larger armies and supplies. The invasion is, in fact, wholly successful as far as it’s progressed and the Nazis have lost the initiative for good. As far as I can see the recent outbreak of optimism in the press is not merely a means of stepping up the morale at home but is really justified by events.

I hope you aren’t having any trouble with these new self-propelled bombs. I take it you get the alert when they are approaching and get into the shelter.

2-7-44 Yes we manage to keep fairly up to date with the news nowadays as newspapers reach us regularly only a day or two after they’re printed and also we have a wireless set and thus hear the ´óÏó´«Ã½ news. Naturally we know everything that’s happening in France as a bulletin is issued daily and in the course of our work we learn all the griff — we’re better off than you in this respect since you only hear what the censors release.

The weather was very fine during the first fortnight but it’s been poor this week with much rain and dull skies. In consequence the ground is awfully muddy and slippery.

Yes the voyage was a perfectly safe one and, as you’ll have seen in the press, the losses sustained were much lighter than had been anticipated. Not a particularly comfortable one as, of course, the invasion barges aren’t built for comfort — they certainly do the job though. I suppose that I mustn’t go into details about these amazing craft so you’ll have to wait till all thoughts of invasion are a thing of the past. Anyway these vessels pitched and tossed like corks in the channel but I was not affected in the least and maintained a first class appetite throughout the length of the voyage. We were off the French coast, awaiting al favourable tide to allow our craft to beach, on D. Day plus 4 days. A desultory shelling of the beach was in progress but it didn’t come close enough to worry us and we landed safely on a beautiful, flat stretch of beach, then became a part of the congested traffic crawling slowly inland. Later I reached the regiment, then came to the battery and, as about three quarters of the personnel had not then arrived, was kept very busy until the remainder straggled in.

Answering your question, when I came home on that leave I had not been told in so many words that the invasion was due to begin but it was quite obvious from the movements we were making and one or two other pointers we had had. Also, shortly after arriving back in England [from Sicily], it was made clear to us that we would be in the xxxxxxx invasion [the intervening words are obliterated by the censor].

The pair of socks you posted reached me safely so the position isn’t so desperate now as I have two pairs so don’t bother darling… Perhaps later on when you’re not so busy you could knit me another pair…

Well I’d better close now dear. Long letters are rather frowned upon these days when shipping space is so important. Take care of yourself…

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