Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Newcastle-on-Tyne April 18th, 1943
Dear Family,
I don’t’ think I’ve written to you for quite a long time – Life has been uneventful and there hasn’t
been much to write about.
Spring has been in full swing – the trees all bursting out, and the daffodils and other flowers ablaze.
We thought we might get a cold snap to make up for the mild winter, but we have gone straight on
with warm sunny days, though I suppose there is still time for snow and ice. We had a few days last
week of hurricane wind, and on the worst of them the King and Queen were paying a visit to
Newcastle. They must have had a horrid time with dust and everything moveable swirling about,
trying to keep their hats and their smiles on. I should have liked to have seen them, but they were
only here during working hours.
Double summer-time has started and the long, light evenings are pleasant. They have their
disadvantages though; my room that used to look very cosy by artificial light when I came home,
now looks dusty and grubby with the sunlight streaming into it, and I feel I have to set to work to
clean it when I get in.
I spent last weekend at Wylam with Cousin Mabel Kaye and family. Her son-in-law, with whom she
lives, has just been moved to Bristol, so the whole household is departing next month. I am sorry.
They have been very kind to me, and it was a nice house to go to – only about 10 miles from
Newcastle, but in quite country surroundings.
I visited a lovely old house last week – Blagdon Hall, the home of Lord and Lady Ridley. It came about
in a rather funny way – When I was in Sweden, I met an American girl who was very friendly and
occasionally writes to me. In one letter about a year ago, she said she was very busy sewing
“Bundles for Britain”, and that their particular bundles were all sent to a babies’ hospital near
Blagdon Hall in Northumberland, where the owners had given half the house to be used as a
hospital. A few weeks ago, I had a patient who is a lady’s maid there and evidently and old and
trusted servant. I told her about this girl, and she said they were kept entirely supplied with clothes
by this sewing circle in New Jersey, which had also sent them large sums of money, with which they
had equipped the hospital. The next time she came for treatment she brought me an invitation from
Lady Ridley to go and see over it. It was a lovely day – the large park-like grounds were very pretty,
though not able to be kept up properly just now. I had tea with the family – the house was full of
beautiful furniture, pictures etc. Lady Ridley is a daughter of Sir Edward Luytens (who designed the
Cenotaph) and is very artistic. Then I was taken over the hospital wing which was all very interesting.
It has been very adequately fitted up as a hospital, but retains a nice home-like atmosphere, and one
of its distinctions is that they take the mothers in with their sick babies and they seemed to enjoy
the stay there.
The hospital was evacuated there at the beginning of the war, but I should think would stay on
permanently. Indeed, I think it will be the fate of all the English mansions, as I don’t think that it will
ever be possible to run them as private houses again. To combine the two seems a good
compromise, though that must require good management.
Next weekend is Easter. We had hoped to have several days off, but are only getting Good Friday
and Easter Monday, so the Saturday morning’s work and Sunday night’s fire-watching rather spoilt
it. However, I daresay the object is to keep people at home and off the trains. I have decided to go to
Warkworth, a little way up the coast. I shall take my bicycle and go backwards and forwards.
My holidays come in May. I had intended to go to Scotland and spend a very quiet time, but a letter
from Win Pratt (with whom I went to the Lakes) has changed my plans. She has been very ill with her
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
heart and has to do nothing for 3 months and never work again, at least, not at massage. She is on
the mend now and wants to join forces with me for a short holiday, so I am going down to Surrey
with her for a week, so she won’t have much travelling, and then I shall spend a week with Susie.
29th April
I have just come back from my Easter holiday, which was a great success after all. I managed to beg
off fire-watching, and just before I left work on Thursday, the secretary sent word to our boss to
release as many as possible on the Saturday morning and I was the lucky one who was let off, as I
had planned the longest journey and had had a cold. It was decent of the others to do my work for
me, and I had a clear 4 days away, coming back by a train at 6:30am on Easter Tuesday.
Warkworth is a delightful little village
about a mile from the sea. It is on the
river Coquet, a very pretty winding
river, and is encircled by it on 3 sides.
It is overshadowed by a large and
really very beautiful, ruined castle on
the top of a steep hill.
The beach is, of course, barred by
barbed wire, but it is pleasant on the
sand-hills just behind. Though, to tell
the truth, I never find the North Sea
very attractive. I have never seen it
looking other than a yellowy-grey colour, and it always looks cold and wind-whipped. I daresay it has
its moments, but I haven’t been there then. You can see the sea in the distance in the enclosed
postcard, and the river winding round.
Inland there is pretty country and I
pottered about a bit on my bicycle, but
not as much as I had intended owing to
a strong gale blowing all the time. It was
a pleasant little holiday, though, and I
found quite nice, friendly people at the
boarding house.
Have you had “In Which we Serve” out
there yet? It is a fine picture.
Everyone was very elated and thankful over the news from Tunisia. It is hard to realise it is all over. It
has been a wonderful piece of co-operation work on the part of all concerned and the difficulties to
be overcome – transport etc – must have been colossal. I have been at home all day today, sewing
and getting ready for my holiday next week, so I have had the wireless on a lot and have listened to
some very stirring broadcasts about it.
‘Marching On’, a description of the whole campaign was good and Eric Linklater’s play ‘The Great
Ship’ was very fine.
I wonder how much of the BBC programmes you get? I know the news once a day, but do you get
anything outstanding relayed?
Have just read ‘The Yearling’ by Margaret Rawlings and recommend it – No connection with the
foregoing – it just came into my head.
Good night, Bless you all – love from, Rachel
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Newcastle-on-Tyne June 5th 1943
Dear Family,
Back from holidays, having had a very enjoyable time. I planned it on rather quiet lines this year as I
had had a lot of colds etc through the winter and I thought a rest was indicated. Also, of course, my
companion for the first week, Win Pratt, had to go quietly.
I left all the arrangements to her, and she found a hotel at Hindhead in Surrey with a nice garden
and a good table. Hindhead has the reputation of being very healthy. It is a little patch of high, sandy
country, growing mostly pine trees, and with lovely views all round. We had a week of unbroken
sunshine and spent nearly all sitting in the garden and going for gentle walks. Our only long
expedition was a day at Ailsa Bragg’s farm. Hindhead was half-an-hour on the bus from Farnham and
I went over there for several times to do bits of shopping and once to have tea with Cousin Jean
Fowler. She has aged a good deal and is rather pathetic, living alone in a much-too-large house with
a dog and some fowls, and rarely able to get any help.
I had a funny time getting to Hindhead – I had had laryngitis for some days but thought it no good
waiting for my voice to come back before setting out. I meant to leave by an early morning train, but
my alarm clock failed to function, so I got one about midday. It was several hours late, and I arrived
at the nearest station to Hindhead at about 10:15 instead of 8pm. The last bus had gone, no taxis
were available, and I had no voice to telephone to the hotel. The porter said it was 2 miles away and
it was a lovely night, so I left my case and set out on foot. After walking for more than an hour I met
a man who told me it was another 2½ miles! It was now getting dark but there was nothing to do but
plod on. About a mile further a kindly soldier picked up my wilting remains and deposited them at
the now sleeping hotel. The proprietress had to be waked and my story poured into her
unsympathetic ear in husky whispers. It was all the more awkward as we were boarded out down
the street and it meant waking another house. However, I finally got to bed. Winifred, had, of
course, given me up for the night but was pleased to see me.
The second week I spent with Susie in London. She has a flat in a garden-city part of London, near
Golders Green. It is quite like being in the country – trees and flowers everywhere, and Arthur has an
allotment about 5 minutes away on Hampstead Heath, where he works every evening. Susie still
works at munitions. I didn’t see Rosemary this time, but she is growing up quickly and thinking of
going to a domestic science school next year.
I saw the Putney Roberts and was sorry I just missed Gerald, who left for home about a week before.
The stock in the London shops seemed a lot poorer than last year, but I wasn’t wanting to shop
much anyway. Town was more crowded than ever with foreigners, American soldiers
preponderating. Indeed, it was quite a matter for remark if one saw an English officer – that is
excluding the R.A.F., there were hundreds of them.
Restaurants were very crowded and most have gone over to cafeteria style.
I saw a couple of theatres – One ‘Claudia’ had in it a clever little actress with a very lame leg which
she seemed able to disregard and make you forget.
I had planned to go and see Llewyn and Joan Roberts one day, but was prevented at the last minute.
Llewyn is back in the army and quite strong again and they have just adopted a little boy of a year
old, David. I was sorry not to see them. They are stationed in Essex.
Well, that seems to be the end of my news.
We are relieved to have Mr Churchill safely back in England again.
Love to you all,
Rachel
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Newcastle-on-Tyne
July 29th, 1943
Dear Family,
I seem to have let over a month elapse since I wrote last, so here goes to gather up what news I can
find.
I have just had a very pleasant long weekend at Alnmouth a little seaside town a few miles north of
Warkworth, where I went last time. Gwen Roberts was staying at a hotel there with a friend and
wrote to see if I could spend a day with them. As it happened to be my long weekend, I went off first
thing on Saturday morning hoping that I might find somewhere to spend the night. Of course,
everywhere was full up. I even went to half-a-dozen farms offering to help with the hay-making in
the hope of getting a bed at one of them, but they weren’t starting to gather the hay till Monday and
had no spare beds. At the last minute, a booking was cancelled at Gwen’s hotel, so I was lucky. It was
glorious weather, the restrictions for going onto the beach were lifted at the moment and a gap
made in the barbed wire so we had two lovely days. Lots of people were swimming but it looked too
cold for me – a gradually shelving beach with no waves, so that it was hard to get wet above the
knees. For once the North Sea looked blue and sparkling.
Gwen’s friend, with the odd name of Moss Runciman, is head of all the YMCA canteens in the North
and she took us to see a very super one in Alnmouth, where many soldiers are stationed. A rich old
lady living in a rather showy mansion has given it all over to them except a couple of rooms where
she lives. The soldiers, in their battle dress and heavy boots looked a bit out of place among the thick
velvet carpets, priceless ornaments etc., but I expect they enjoyed it all. There was a lovely view over
the beach and sea from all the windows and billiard tables, a fine library, and every sort of
amusement for them.
August 6th
Have just had another weekend away – August Bank holiday. I spent it at a military camp with Moss
Runciman. She runs the YMCA canteen at a Battle School, where troops are given the final polish off
to their training – an intensive and very tough course. A few pick men are sent from each regiment,
so they are a fine lot. When I was there, they were mostly from Scotch regiments, in a fascinating
variety of kilts, and Guards who all have to be over 6ft in height. The camp was a little town of huts,
and little Jeep tanks ran about everywhere. I stayed at the YMCA hut and found it an interesting
experience. We stayed in bed till 10 or 11am, cut sandwiches, mountains of them, all afternoon;
served the men with food, drinks, stamps, cigarettes etc from 6 till 9; and the officers from 9pm till 1
or 2am. Then we had our evening meal and went to bed. Moss is a jolly person with a remarkable
personality and the men loved her and it was all very cheerful.
Travelling has been very difficult during the summer. We are asked not to travel unless absolutely
necessary, but it is hard not to when so many people are away from their homes, living in camps,
digs etc. I always stick to trains (cum bicycle), as busses are impossible but the queues for the trains
stretch across the station and away down the streets outside, and it is hard to find out which queue
leads to which train. The trains are of a phenomenal length. Going to Alnmouth I enquired which end
the van for my bicycle was likely to be and was told the front, so I waited there. When the train
came in that van wasn’t opened, so I had to rush to the other end of the train, which was beyond the
platform and handed up my bicycle, but by that time the train was crammed full and lots of people
couldn’t get on. I went back to the van and asked if I might travel with the bicycle, but got my head
bitten off “Certainly not, and if you’re not going on the train get your bike off quickly”. However, I
thought I would go on the 9am so shoved and squirmed till I got myself into a corridor, though with
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
my rucksack sticking out so that the door wouldn’t shut. Eventually I got in. Of course, this is only so
bad in summer as over here everyone has their annual holidays at the same time – between May
and September.
17th August
The news is grand lately. Sicily successfully over, and Russia and the bombing offensive going well.
We wonder where the next blow will be struck. Isn’t it grand to feel that we are doing the striking
not waiting apprehensively!
I am hoping for a batch of letters soon as I haven’t had any for about 2 months and some of you
have doubtless written – I expect they will all come together.
Work goes on as usual and I am very fit and cheerful. Have seen some good pictures - ‘We Live at
Dawn’ and ‘Sergeant York’ being two of them.
Much love to you all. Rachel
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Pitlochry, Scotland
Sept 3rd, 1943
Dear Family,
Here I am on the wander again, having a wonderful holiday in Scotland. A tremendous lot of variety
has been crammed into 10 days, the weather has been kind, and it is all very delightful.
I had intended just to go to a hotel, not knowing what else to do and not thinking it would be
possible to move about much, but when I was down South in May I met Jean Fowler, who suggested
accompanying me, so I left all the arrangements to her, and a very nice trip she planned. I felt a little
dubious, as she is old and frail now, but she has stood up to the travelling well.
She came to a hotel in Newcastle a few days before so as to break the journey, and I spent the first
night of my holidays with her there so as to get a good start in the morning, and we were successful
in getting seats on the train. We passed through Edinburgh but didn’t get out there, changed trains
at Aberdeen, and went on to a little town called Huntley. There we stayed at the Manse for 2 days
with Cos J’s niece, who is married to the minister. It was a typical Scotch home – simple and kindly –
no shortage of food, lots of various sorts of scones, buns, cookies etc that they eat at their ‘high tea’
at 5:30. It was a nice little town with the usual picturesque old castle where the old Lairds of the
Glen used to live, now ruined. The country about was rich and intensively farmed.
Then we went on for 3 days to Nairn, a little seaside town, taking Margaret, the niece, with us. There
we stayed in a most comfortable hotel and enjoyed sunny days on the beach with a pretty view
across the firth of Moray. Margaret and I went on a long expedition one day; we went to Inverness,
and from there took a bus that took us right across to the west of Scotland and back to Fort William
– along the Caledonian Canal and the banks of Loch Ness, and the other string of lakes you will see
on the map. It was all very beautiful and interesting and the heather, though just past its best,
painted all the hills purple. Scotland is wider and wilder than England, many of the hills are bare of
trees and you get wonderful colour effects as the light is constantly changing – heavy clouds, sudden
shafts of sunlight, soft mists etc.
Next Cos. Jean and I went on to stay with another nephew of hers, Freeland Barbour, at Fincastle
near Pitlochry (where we are now). This must be quite one of the show places of Scotland – it is
simply heavenly. The house is on a big country estate, situated on the top of a hill, and looking over
ranges of mountains in every direction. There are lovely trees all about, miles of fir forests, a very
pretty lake not far from the house where they swim, boat, fish for trout, and in winter skate. It is a
very jolly household, 5 children belonging to it and innumerable visiting children for the holidays,
evacuees whose parents are in foreign parts etc. I can’t keep count of them all. The men and boys in
the household all wear kilts and look very nice, and it is as Scotch as the Manse, but quite different.
I am very lucky to have seen Scotland under such happy circumstances, and don’t like the idea of
going back to work tomorrow. I shall be leaving Cos J. in Edinburgh and arriving in Newcastle at
about 2am.
The pass of Killiekrankie, where the battle was fought, is just below the house. The Scots, in 1689,
trapped the English in the deep gorge,
I have just been watching the young people dancing reels and other Scotch dances in the dining
room. They do them with great zest and energy and love them. There are 3 big houses full of
children in the glen so they join forces for their amusements and have been mountain climbing
today, but they seem to have plenty of energy left for dancing – the floor has been shaking under 20
pairs of feet and swinging kilts. I warmed myself up with one of the simpler dances.
It is a very wholesome life for children – they run wild but are not spoiled. There is a strong religious
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
background to their lives – family prayers etc – but their high spirits and gaiety are in no way
hampered.
The oldest son is in Sicily and writes graphic letters about it all.
Well, I must stop.
Love to all Rachel
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Newcastle-on-Tyne
Nov 22nd, 1943
Dear Family,
There doesn’t seem to be an atom of news since I wrote last month – at least nothing worth writing
about. Winter is creeping on, but it hasn’t been very cod yet, only damp and foggy. I always feel
winter is really here when the black-out is still drawn when I leave in the morning, and we shall
reach that this week.
Newcastle is full of colds and a mild flu. I had a day off work last week with something of the sort,
but it passed very quickly, probably due to the injections I have been having.
I have started my new job and think I shall like it. At present it seems to consist mostly of walking
miles of corridors and long wards to see what the students are doing and tell them not to!
I have had one weekend away lately at Wooler, a windswept little town among the Cheviot Hills,
cold but beautiful country – I stayed with an ex-patient. I brought home a bag of rose hips and with
the help of a couple of apples turned them into jelly, (full of vitamin C they are supposed to be).
Nothing edible is wasted in this country at the moment.
Have had a few good theatres here lately prior to their London season – ‘Ten Little Nigger Boys’ , a
thriller in which 8 of the little nigger boys are killed one by one on the stage or just off it – the
remaining 2, of course, get married!
And ‘There Shall be no Night’, a tragic but very good play about the invasion of Greece in 1941.
Nov 29th
I may be making a move of lodgings soon as the landlady, a person of variable moods, wants my
bedroom for a maid. She will give me a divan bed to put in my big room, so it may be alright, and I
will give it a trial, but she is not prepared to reduce the rent, which I feel rather sore about.
However, it would be a room less to clean, which is something of a relief.
My little wireless has broken down again, this time, it appears, for good, and I miss it very much. I
have been toying with the idea of getting a crystal set as it should be much cheaper than the other
sort.
Much love to you all, and good luck for 1944.
Rachel
Newcastle-on-Tyne April 18th, 1943
Dear Family,
I don’t’ think I’ve written to you for quite a long time – Life has been uneventful and there hasn’t
been much to write about.
Spring has been in full swing – the trees all bursting out, and the daffodils and other flowers ablaze.
We thought we might get a cold snap to make up for the mild winter, but we have gone straight on
with warm sunny days, though I suppose there is still time for snow and ice. We had a few days last
week of hurricane wind, and on the worst of them the King and Queen were paying a visit to
Newcastle. They must have had a horrid time with dust and everything moveable swirling about,
trying to keep their hats and their smiles on. I should have liked to have seen them, but they were
only here during working hours.
Double summer-time has started and the long, light evenings are pleasant. They have their
disadvantages though; my room that used to look very cosy by artificial light when I came home,
now looks dusty and grubby with the sunlight streaming into it, and I feel I have to set to work to
clean it when I get in.
I spent last weekend at Wylam with Cousin Mabel Kaye and family. Her son-in-law, with whom she
lives, has just been moved to Bristol, so the whole household is departing next month. I am sorry.
They have been very kind to me, and it was a nice house to go to – only about 10 miles from
Newcastle, but in quite country surroundings.
I visited a lovely old house last week – Blagdon Hall, the home of Lord and Lady Ridley. It came about
in a rather funny way – When I was in Sweden, I met an American girl who was very friendly and
occasionally writes to me. In one letter about a year ago, she said she was very busy sewing
“Bundles for Britain”, and that their particular bundles were all sent to a babies’ hospital near
Blagdon Hall in Northumberland, where the owners had given half the house to be used as a
hospital. A few weeks ago, I had a patient who is a lady’s maid there and evidently and old and
trusted servant. I told her about this girl, and she said they were kept entirely supplied with clothes
by this sewing circle in New Jersey, which had also sent them large sums of money, with which they
had equipped the hospital. The next time she came for treatment she brought me an invitation from
Lady Ridley to go and see over it. It was a lovely day – the large park-like grounds were very pretty,
though not able to be kept up properly just now. I had tea with the family – the house was full of
beautiful furniture, pictures etc. Lady Ridley is a daughter of Sir Edward Luytens (who designed the
Cenotaph) and is very artistic. Then I was taken over the hospital wing which was all very interesting.
It has been very adequately fitted up as a hospital, but retains a nice home-like atmosphere, and one
of its distinctions is that they take the mothers in with their sick babies and they seemed to enjoy
the stay there.
The hospital was evacuated there at the beginning of the war, but I should think would stay on
permanently. Indeed, I think it will be the fate of all the English mansions, as I don’t think that it will
ever be possible to run them as private houses again. To combine the two seems a good
compromise, though that must require good management.
Next weekend is Easter. We had hoped to have several days off, but are only getting Good Friday
and Easter Monday, so the Saturday morning’s work and Sunday night’s fire-watching rather spoilt
it. However, I daresay the object is to keep people at home and off the trains. I have decided to go to
Warkworth, a little way up the coast. I shall take my bicycle and go backwards and forwards.
My holidays come in May. I had intended to go to Scotland and spend a very quiet time, but a letter
from Win Pratt (with whom I went to the Lakes) has changed my plans. She has been very ill with her
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
heart and has to do nothing for 3 months and never work again, at least, not at massage. She is on
the mend now and wants to join forces with me for a short holiday, so I am going down to Surrey
with her for a week, so she won’t have much travelling, and then I shall spend a week with Susie.
29th April
I have just come back from my Easter holiday, which was a great success after all. I managed to beg
off fire-watching, and just before I left work on Thursday, the secretary sent word to our boss to
release as many as possible on the Saturday morning and I was the lucky one who was let off, as I
had planned the longest journey and had had a cold. It was decent of the others to do my work for
me, and I had a clear 4 days away, coming back by a train at 6:30am on Easter Tuesday.
Warkworth is a delightful little village
about a mile from the sea. It is on the
river Coquet, a very pretty winding
river, and is encircled by it on 3 sides.
It is overshadowed by a large and
really very beautiful, ruined castle on
the top of a steep hill.
The beach is, of course, barred by
barbed wire, but it is pleasant on the
sand-hills just behind. Though, to tell
the truth, I never find the North Sea
very attractive. I have never seen it
looking other than a yellowy-grey colour, and it always looks cold and wind-whipped. I daresay it has
its moments, but I haven’t been there then. You can see the sea in the distance in the enclosed
postcard, and the river winding round.
Inland there is pretty country and I
pottered about a bit on my bicycle, but
not as much as I had intended owing to
a strong gale blowing all the time. It was
a pleasant little holiday, though, and I
found quite nice, friendly people at the
boarding house.
Have you had “In Which we Serve” out
there yet? It is a fine picture.
Everyone was very elated and thankful over the news from Tunisia. It is hard to realise it is all over. It
has been a wonderful piece of co-operation work on the part of all concerned and the difficulties to
be overcome – transport etc – must have been colossal. I have been at home all day today, sewing
and getting ready for my holiday next week, so I have had the wireless on a lot and have listened to
some very stirring broadcasts about it.
‘Marching On’, a description of the whole campaign was good and Eric Linklater’s play ‘The Great
Ship’ was very fine.
I wonder how much of the BBC programmes you get? I know the news once a day, but do you get
anything outstanding relayed?
Have just read ‘The Yearling’ by Margaret Rawlings and recommend it – No connection with the
foregoing – it just came into my head.
Good night, Bless you all – love from, Rachel
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Newcastle-on-Tyne June 5th 1943
Dear Family,
Back from holidays, having had a very enjoyable time. I planned it on rather quiet lines this year as I
had had a lot of colds etc through the winter and I thought a rest was indicated. Also, of course, my
companion for the first week, Win Pratt, had to go quietly.
I left all the arrangements to her, and she found a hotel at Hindhead in Surrey with a nice garden
and a good table. Hindhead has the reputation of being very healthy. It is a little patch of high, sandy
country, growing mostly pine trees, and with lovely views all round. We had a week of unbroken
sunshine and spent nearly all sitting in the garden and going for gentle walks. Our only long
expedition was a day at Ailsa Bragg’s farm. Hindhead was half-an-hour on the bus from Farnham and
I went over there for several times to do bits of shopping and once to have tea with Cousin Jean
Fowler. She has aged a good deal and is rather pathetic, living alone in a much-too-large house with
a dog and some fowls, and rarely able to get any help.
I had a funny time getting to Hindhead – I had had laryngitis for some days but thought it no good
waiting for my voice to come back before setting out. I meant to leave by an early morning train, but
my alarm clock failed to function, so I got one about midday. It was several hours late, and I arrived
at the nearest station to Hindhead at about 10:15 instead of 8pm. The last bus had gone, no taxis
were available, and I had no voice to telephone to the hotel. The porter said it was 2 miles away and
it was a lovely night, so I left my case and set out on foot. After walking for more than an hour I met
a man who told me it was another 2½ miles! It was now getting dark but there was nothing to do but
plod on. About a mile further a kindly soldier picked up my wilting remains and deposited them at
the now sleeping hotel. The proprietress had to be waked and my story poured into her
unsympathetic ear in husky whispers. It was all the more awkward as we were boarded out down
the street and it meant waking another house. However, I finally got to bed. Winifred, had, of
course, given me up for the night but was pleased to see me.
The second week I spent with Susie in London. She has a flat in a garden-city part of London, near
Golders Green. It is quite like being in the country – trees and flowers everywhere, and Arthur has an
allotment about 5 minutes away on Hampstead Heath, where he works every evening. Susie still
works at munitions. I didn’t see Rosemary this time, but she is growing up quickly and thinking of
going to a domestic science school next year.
I saw the Putney Roberts and was sorry I just missed Gerald, who left for home about a week before.
The stock in the London shops seemed a lot poorer than last year, but I wasn’t wanting to shop
much anyway. Town was more crowded than ever with foreigners, American soldiers
preponderating. Indeed, it was quite a matter for remark if one saw an English officer – that is
excluding the R.A.F., there were hundreds of them.
Restaurants were very crowded and most have gone over to cafeteria style.
I saw a couple of theatres – One ‘Claudia’ had in it a clever little actress with a very lame leg which
she seemed able to disregard and make you forget.
I had planned to go and see Llewyn and Joan Roberts one day, but was prevented at the last minute.
Llewyn is back in the army and quite strong again and they have just adopted a little boy of a year
old, David. I was sorry not to see them. They are stationed in Essex.
Well, that seems to be the end of my news.
We are relieved to have Mr Churchill safely back in England again.
Love to you all,
Rachel
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Newcastle-on-Tyne
July 29th, 1943
Dear Family,
I seem to have let over a month elapse since I wrote last, so here goes to gather up what news I can
find.
I have just had a very pleasant long weekend at Alnmouth a little seaside town a few miles north of
Warkworth, where I went last time. Gwen Roberts was staying at a hotel there with a friend and
wrote to see if I could spend a day with them. As it happened to be my long weekend, I went off first
thing on Saturday morning hoping that I might find somewhere to spend the night. Of course,
everywhere was full up. I even went to half-a-dozen farms offering to help with the hay-making in
the hope of getting a bed at one of them, but they weren’t starting to gather the hay till Monday and
had no spare beds. At the last minute, a booking was cancelled at Gwen’s hotel, so I was lucky. It was
glorious weather, the restrictions for going onto the beach were lifted at the moment and a gap
made in the barbed wire so we had two lovely days. Lots of people were swimming but it looked too
cold for me – a gradually shelving beach with no waves, so that it was hard to get wet above the
knees. For once the North Sea looked blue and sparkling.
Gwen’s friend, with the odd name of Moss Runciman, is head of all the YMCA canteens in the North
and she took us to see a very super one in Alnmouth, where many soldiers are stationed. A rich old
lady living in a rather showy mansion has given it all over to them except a couple of rooms where
she lives. The soldiers, in their battle dress and heavy boots looked a bit out of place among the thick
velvet carpets, priceless ornaments etc., but I expect they enjoyed it all. There was a lovely view over
the beach and sea from all the windows and billiard tables, a fine library, and every sort of
amusement for them.
August 6th
Have just had another weekend away – August Bank holiday. I spent it at a military camp with Moss
Runciman. She runs the YMCA canteen at a Battle School, where troops are given the final polish off
to their training – an intensive and very tough course. A few pick men are sent from each regiment,
so they are a fine lot. When I was there, they were mostly from Scotch regiments, in a fascinating
variety of kilts, and Guards who all have to be over 6ft in height. The camp was a little town of huts,
and little Jeep tanks ran about everywhere. I stayed at the YMCA hut and found it an interesting
experience. We stayed in bed till 10 or 11am, cut sandwiches, mountains of them, all afternoon;
served the men with food, drinks, stamps, cigarettes etc from 6 till 9; and the officers from 9pm till 1
or 2am. Then we had our evening meal and went to bed. Moss is a jolly person with a remarkable
personality and the men loved her and it was all very cheerful.
Travelling has been very difficult during the summer. We are asked not to travel unless absolutely
necessary, but it is hard not to when so many people are away from their homes, living in camps,
digs etc. I always stick to trains (cum bicycle), as busses are impossible but the queues for the trains
stretch across the station and away down the streets outside, and it is hard to find out which queue
leads to which train. The trains are of a phenomenal length. Going to Alnmouth I enquired which end
the van for my bicycle was likely to be and was told the front, so I waited there. When the train
came in that van wasn’t opened, so I had to rush to the other end of the train, which was beyond the
platform and handed up my bicycle, but by that time the train was crammed full and lots of people
couldn’t get on. I went back to the van and asked if I might travel with the bicycle, but got my head
bitten off “Certainly not, and if you’re not going on the train get your bike off quickly”. However, I
thought I would go on the 9am so shoved and squirmed till I got myself into a corridor, though with
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
my rucksack sticking out so that the door wouldn’t shut. Eventually I got in. Of course, this is only so
bad in summer as over here everyone has their annual holidays at the same time – between May
and September.
17th August
The news is grand lately. Sicily successfully over, and Russia and the bombing offensive going well.
We wonder where the next blow will be struck. Isn’t it grand to feel that we are doing the striking
not waiting apprehensively!
I am hoping for a batch of letters soon as I haven’t had any for about 2 months and some of you
have doubtless written – I expect they will all come together.
Work goes on as usual and I am very fit and cheerful. Have seen some good pictures - ‘We Live at
Dawn’ and ‘Sergeant York’ being two of them.
Much love to you all. Rachel
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Pitlochry, Scotland
Sept 3rd, 1943
Dear Family,
Here I am on the wander again, having a wonderful holiday in Scotland. A tremendous lot of variety
has been crammed into 10 days, the weather has been kind, and it is all very delightful.
I had intended just to go to a hotel, not knowing what else to do and not thinking it would be
possible to move about much, but when I was down South in May I met Jean Fowler, who suggested
accompanying me, so I left all the arrangements to her, and a very nice trip she planned. I felt a little
dubious, as she is old and frail now, but she has stood up to the travelling well.
She came to a hotel in Newcastle a few days before so as to break the journey, and I spent the first
night of my holidays with her there so as to get a good start in the morning, and we were successful
in getting seats on the train. We passed through Edinburgh but didn’t get out there, changed trains
at Aberdeen, and went on to a little town called Huntley. There we stayed at the Manse for 2 days
with Cos J’s niece, who is married to the minister. It was a typical Scotch home – simple and kindly –
no shortage of food, lots of various sorts of scones, buns, cookies etc that they eat at their ‘high tea’
at 5:30. It was a nice little town with the usual picturesque old castle where the old Lairds of the
Glen used to live, now ruined. The country about was rich and intensively farmed.
Then we went on for 3 days to Nairn, a little seaside town, taking Margaret, the niece, with us. There
we stayed in a most comfortable hotel and enjoyed sunny days on the beach with a pretty view
across the firth of Moray. Margaret and I went on a long expedition one day; we went to Inverness,
and from there took a bus that took us right across to the west of Scotland and back to Fort William
– along the Caledonian Canal and the banks of Loch Ness, and the other string of lakes you will see
on the map. It was all very beautiful and interesting and the heather, though just past its best,
painted all the hills purple. Scotland is wider and wilder than England, many of the hills are bare of
trees and you get wonderful colour effects as the light is constantly changing – heavy clouds, sudden
shafts of sunlight, soft mists etc.
Next Cos. Jean and I went on to stay with another nephew of hers, Freeland Barbour, at Fincastle
near Pitlochry (where we are now). This must be quite one of the show places of Scotland – it is
simply heavenly. The house is on a big country estate, situated on the top of a hill, and looking over
ranges of mountains in every direction. There are lovely trees all about, miles of fir forests, a very
pretty lake not far from the house where they swim, boat, fish for trout, and in winter skate. It is a
very jolly household, 5 children belonging to it and innumerable visiting children for the holidays,
evacuees whose parents are in foreign parts etc. I can’t keep count of them all. The men and boys in
the household all wear kilts and look very nice, and it is as Scotch as the Manse, but quite different.
I am very lucky to have seen Scotland under such happy circumstances, and don’t like the idea of
going back to work tomorrow. I shall be leaving Cos J. in Edinburgh and arriving in Newcastle at
about 2am.
The pass of Killiekrankie, where the battle was fought, is just below the house. The Scots, in 1689,
trapped the English in the deep gorge,
I have just been watching the young people dancing reels and other Scotch dances in the dining
room. They do them with great zest and energy and love them. There are 3 big houses full of
children in the glen so they join forces for their amusements and have been mountain climbing
today, but they seem to have plenty of energy left for dancing – the floor has been shaking under 20
pairs of feet and swinging kilts. I warmed myself up with one of the simpler dances.
It is a very wholesome life for children – they run wild but are not spoiled. There is a strong religious
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
background to their lives – family prayers etc – but their high spirits and gaiety are in no way
hampered.
The oldest son is in Sicily and writes graphic letters about it all.
Well, I must stop.
Love to all Rachel
Aunt Rachel’s Letters 1943
Newcastle-on-Tyne
Nov 22nd, 1943
Dear Family,
There doesn’t seem to be an atom of news since I wrote last month – at least nothing worth writing
about. Winter is creeping on, but it hasn’t been very cod yet, only damp and foggy. I always feel
winter is really here when the black-out is still drawn when I leave in the morning, and we shall
reach that this week.
Newcastle is full of colds and a mild flu. I had a day off work last week with something of the sort,
but it passed very quickly, probably due to the injections I have been having.
I have started my new job and think I shall like it. At present it seems to consist mostly of walking
miles of corridors and long wards to see what the students are doing and tell them not to!
I have had one weekend away lately at Wooler, a windswept little town among the Cheviot Hills,
cold but beautiful country – I stayed with an ex-patient. I brought home a bag of rose hips and with
the help of a couple of apples turned them into jelly, (full of vitamin C they are supposed to be).
Nothing edible is wasted in this country at the moment.
Have had a few good theatres here lately prior to their London season – ‘Ten Little Nigger Boys’ , a
thriller in which 8 of the little nigger boys are killed one by one on the stage or just off it – the
remaining 2, of course, get married!
And ‘There Shall be no Night’, a tragic but very good play about the invasion of Greece in 1941.
Nov 29th
I may be making a move of lodgings soon as the landlady, a person of variable moods, wants my
bedroom for a maid. She will give me a divan bed to put in my big room, so it may be alright, and I
will give it a trial, but she is not prepared to reduce the rent, which I feel rather sore about.
However, it would be a room less to clean, which is something of a relief.
My little wireless has broken down again, this time, it appears, for good, and I miss it very much. I
have been toying with the idea of getting a crystal set as it should be much cheaper than the other
sort.
Much love to you all, and good luck for 1944.
Rachel
