Stagecoach have once again changed my local bus times/routes. And they’ve made a pigs ear of it. The following is a letter I wrote them, but with less detail and stronger wordage.
Dear Bus Company
You’ve changed the bus timetables/routes. This makes me very bluddy angry. Thanks a bunch.
Fooking Idiots.
*screams*
Yours sincerely,
Whilst scanning oodles of old family photos (which you can see here) yesterday I came across a letter written by the above chap. His name was Arthur, but he was nicknamed Bubbles. He’s my nana’s eldest nephew (just ten years younger than her), cousin of my dad. It took me a while to decipher some of the words (1940s handwriting, tsk!) and there were tears and laughter along the way. His sarcasm, his dry humour and his ability to make me understand just how horrific the experience was, without going into any ‘gory detail’, reminded me that these were real men, with ordinary jobs and promising futures (on both sides) thrust into war and pain.
It seems a shame that this letter should just exist, so I’m sharing it with the world.
200299 Lt. A O Humphreys
4th Battalion Lincolnshire Regiment
BLA
Monday 16/10/44
My dear Glad [my nana Gladys],
I am extremely sorry to have delayed so long in my reply to your welcome letter, but there just hasn’t been an opportunity.
To Mother and Eileen [his wife] I try to make things appear as light as possible, but here I can say quite frankly that things have not been all ‘beer and skittles’ and I have seen real war, where a man’s life hangs on his ability to be just that little bit smarter than the other fellow.
No doubt you read the glowing account in the newspaper of how we battled our way into Le Havre. That was a good show, and I quite enjoyed the spot of fun. Then we chased the Boche [rascal] right across France and Belgium, having periods of fierce fighting whenever he tried to offer determined resistance, but all the time we continued forward. Gee! That’s a great feeling to be moving on always. I’m not going into any gory details, but believe me Glad, it’s the weirdest life you can imagine. Eileen and home seem to be in another world, which seems fantastically clean and decent compared with this. Still, I’m happy and having plenty of fun. Oh! Yes, it’s great fun to knife Boche, ‘cos they’re not human beings at all.
At present we are in a fairly quiet section, resting on our laurel’s and I had the luck to get a 24 hours leave back in Antwerp last week. Can you imagine what a stupendous luxury I appeared to have – a really magnificent room (with bathroom attachment) in a first class hotel after living in holes in the ground for weeks. I think I spent every possible minute eating ice-cream and fancy pastries – that certainly is the life. Still, I’m not too badly off at present, but am all for getting the war over soon.
It’s good to know you all are keeping well, and I hope you’re having no buzz bomb problems nowadays. No doubt you have heard that Eileen has gone to Birmingham for a while. I don’t know which she disliked most – the bombs or the old man.
Please give my regards to Frederick [my grandad], and tell Brian and Doreen [my half-uncle and half-auntie] that I’m looking forward to some more fun with them soon. I hope John [my dad, aged 2] is still doing well. He must be a big chap now.
Well, I guess that’s all, so cheerio Glad, and all the very best.
With love, Arthur.
He was dead just one month later. His obituary in the local paper stated, He will be remembered as an enthusiastic member of the Boy Scouts’ and Rovers’ groups attached to St. James’s Church, Clapton, as though that were the most important thing … *sigh* … But perhaps it was the most important thing; perhaps it proved that he wasn’t just a statistic in a rotten war.