12th March 1961

March 12th 1961

Sunday

Darling,

Have just finished yet another game of whist and I’m happy to say fortune has swollen by yet another shilling.  With all this cash I’m raking in I will be able to buy myself a Comet so I can pop over to Dagenham every weekend.  It was amusing tonight because the two guys we were playing with began to lose their tempers over each other’s play. Each blaming the other for the way the cards were going. We, meaning Paddy and myself are back as a team in this partner whist game and really going strong.  As far as I am concerned this game can only be played by two couples and have never heard of German Whist. One game I do know is Dustman’s Knock which is just like Postman’s Knock only dirtier.  That is a crumby moth-eaten gag but who cares, it’s Sunday.

Did play a fast game of football last Friday!  It was a really hot day for playing but being mad English we played all the harder.  Being fast off the mark they had me playing off the right wing (who is Stanley Matthews anyway?)  After about 5 minutes the right winger received the ball and flashed down the wing, then cut inside the back and made as if to centre.  The goalkeeper moved out to cut off the expected centre and that’s when Blake let fly with a hard in-swinging shot. The crowd were hushed as the ball flew in and crashed into the back of the net.  What a goal! Didn’t bother about the rest of the game but went around signing autographs.

My, I do miss you Maureen Brown, you wonderful girl you.

One of the lads here writes to about a dozen pen pals (female of course). He is always writing to these poor lonely girls in UK and believe me he had over a hundred replies to his advert in his local Birmingham paper.  To continue…this lad today received a letter from the parents of one of the dozen and according to what he told me the parents have written off their own back inviting him to visit them on his next leave. Apparently their daughter is madly in love with him although they have never met.  He seems quite chuffed and asked my advice.

Did I ever tell you my sister is a real lady.  If not I am now. She really is a dear because she (Marian) sent me not only a letter and a card but a pound note for a present.  She’s a darling sometimes and very attractive as well. Believe me I felt very touched at her gesture. It’s not the money it’s the thought and I won’t forget it.

By-the-way, Ron has ok’d you, as if it makes any difference.  Had a short note from him yesterday and he seems to be enjoying life in dear old East Ham.  Darling, I love you so much. Xxx

Didn’t go to Paphos today after all because quite frankly I had other things to do.  My mates here now arrived back and said it was a great day out. Seems I missed out. Two of the chaps are now quite drunk and rolling around the room as I write keep trying to tell me about an Italian barmaid down town.  Am not saying what but if she worked in uk it would be around Piccadilly somewhere.

Don’t think you know under what conditions I write you know.  Writing letters is the sort of thing I can only do successfully at night.  It is also the time of day when airmen talk too much. So sometimes, in fact, most times, letters are rather ‘jagged’ due to interruptions every 5 minutes.  Take for instance, just a second ago. My mate received a proposal by letter from his young lady. He wanted advice as I told him it was up to him but if it were me I couldn’t marry anybody just because they wanted it but only if I really wanted it as well.

Guess I’ll take an ‘Aunt Mary’ column in the Woman’s Own when I get back.  Do you think ‘Aunt Mary’ would suit me dear? Stand by for fireworks Blake.

Darling Maureen my last letter was so bad I have a guilty conscience about sending it.  Just thought you ought to know. Hope you didn’t read that one out during your lunch hour or I’ll curl up.

Akrotiri is also the name of a large village about 6 miles from here.  The airbase is much larger as you can imagine. Hope you win that argument of yours, me darling.

Your poor old gran seems to be in such a sorry state.  Perhaps it would be a good idea to pop over and take her out in the wheelchair.  Putting myself in her shoes I would think she would appreciate it a great deal. As for pram pushing practice – well, you said it.

The film ‘Hell to Eternity’ was showing at the cinema last night.  I was told all about the film in great detail by a half-baked idiot who has been here over two years.  To explain that further: after two years in this camp people go insane.

Anyway, the gist of the film was the hero, namely Jeffrey Hunter was a Yank Commander who was fighting the Japs during the last war.  Believe it or not but he could speak the lingo so he is landed on the Jap held island and it turns out that he captures it all by himself, simply by capturing the top Jap general.  He stands on top of this hill with the gun pointed at general with the Jap army completely surrounding them, then he plays it cool and orders the general to instruct the Japs to drop their guns and being nicely out manoeuvred they do just that!

Typical bloody Yankie film, absolute garbage.  Glad I didn’t go now it would only have spoilt my weekend.  I think the Japs were far better soldiers than the Americans will ever be.  You only have to look at the facts published after the last war to realise what rubbish Hollywood is feeding to the public.

According to Hollywood Errol Flynn captured Burma and Alan Ladd cleared the scene in China.  Some people swallow the films as true and that’s not right. Any fool knows it was Alan Blake who captured Burma during his campaign leave from driving the Nazis out of Russia.  Don’t let it get around, honey. My medals are too heavy as they are. (that last sentence should be read in Groucho Marx style.)

(who is this Blake?  An idiot sometimes)

Darling, you write asking me to ask you ‘one of those questions.’  So here goes. I would like to know your first impressions of me at the Palais that Wednesday night.  That should take four pages and have you thinking. If you don’t want to answer, well, don’t worry about it, I’ll understand.

That’s all I can think of now Maureen.  Hope you had a good weekend and are still beating your dad at gin rummy – of course you are.  One word of advice about gin rummy, that is – cheat – ok?

Goodnight and all my love to my one and only Maureen.

Love

Alan

Letters from Alan Week 10: 9th - 12th March 1961

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