22nd February 1961

February 22nd 1961

Wednesday

Darling Alan,

I have got 15 minutes at the most to write in.  I got an awful telling off last night because I was sitting here writing until 12.45.  it was just my bad luck that they woke up.  In case you’re wondering what happened to last night’s letter, I scrapped it.  It was a lovely saga of my problem but as you are too far away to do anything about it I decided I couldn’t send it.  After getting you all nice and mystified, I’ll finish.

We hardly did any work Monday morning.  They were filming a ‘Bristol’ advert just across the road from the Bank.  There was this gorgeous red sports car and a not so gorgeous blonde in it.  She had to drive past the Bank, whizz round a couple of corners and stop in a side street where they had all the arc lights etc rigged up.  We had a marvellous view from the office window.  It was jolly interesting, much better than work.  In case you are wondering how I knew it was a Bristol advert, there was a card with ‘today’s cigarette is a Bristol’ on it in the back window of the car.

Carol and I were talking about money the other day (what better subject!).  and something cropped up I want to ask you about.  Apparently when boys leave the Bank to do their National Service they still get paid something to encourage them to come back when they have done their ‘time’.  Do they do the same at the Stock Exchange?

A few weeks ago Carol was canvassing for volunteers to go on holiday with her and her boyfriend.  Her mother refused to let just the two of them go.  She, Carol, had considered us as the no 1 prospect and was pretty well choked when I told her you didn’t come home until August.

Anyway, she finally persuaded her mother to let her go and she had me in fits the other day telling me about the lecture she and Clive had to go through.  All about how her mother was trusting them and Carol is Clive’s responsibility.  He has got to collect her from her house and bring her back there.  Carol said she nearly added  ‘virgo intacta’ but not quite.  Apparently poor old Clive was blushing all the time and hates facing Carol‘s parents now.

As you can imagine, the wedding is ‘everything’ this week.  My friend Jean and I took the wedding present round Monday night.  We’ve bought them a tea-service between us.  Did I tell you, they’ve got a marvellous little flat, which Bill has been living in since it was fixed up.  Jean and I hate going round there unannounced cos it was bit embarrassing when we did before.  They took about 10 minutes to open the door and when they did, well, I’ve never seen anyone look so guilty.  They must have forgotten the bed was in such a mess when they offered to show us around.

Well, anyway, they weren’t at the flat Monday so we had to go round to Marjorie’s house, which we usually avoid like the plague as once her mother starts talking about her complaints there’s no stopping her.  Marjorie and Bill were out arranging details for Saturday so we had to make polite conversation with her parents.  They showed us the wedding presents and the cake and more or less for something to say, we said ‘oh well, Mrs Clarke, only a few more days and you’ll be rid of her.’ And blow me if she didn’t burst into tears!  She said, ‘Yes, my only one.  I didn’t think I would lose her so soon!.’  We more or less dumped our present and ran.

We found ourselves a job anyway, making buttonholes.  Not the holey kind, the flowery kind, in case you’re not with me.

Marjorie and Bill came here tonight to give dad instructions how to get to the hall in the evening.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Marj look so attractive.  She was just one mass of giggles and excitement.  They are going away for a week’s honeymoon but they won’t tell anyone where they’re going.

There has been a documentary on Adolf Eichmann on tonight.  It was shocking.  Especially the films taken at Belsen.

Really must finish.  I’m getting yelled at again.  Took longer than I thought.  Hope you can read the shocking writing.

I love you still,……..must be a record.

Love and kisses

Maureen

Letters from Maureen Week 7: 19th - 25th February 1961

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