16th March 1961

March 16th 1961


My darling Alan,

I mustn’t stay up to all hours tonight writing cos I want to get up early tomorrow, so I’ve got an excuse if this letter is a short one.  Well, I don’t exactly want to get up early tomorrow but I thought I had better get in some practice for next week when I’m opening morning post and have got to be there by nine.

I’m afraid these photos are about the best I can do at the moment.  There are two more but you can have them next time.  You can see what a marvellous photographer my mother is.  Her motto:  anywhere but in the middle.

I got your letter this morning but I was so late getting up I didn’t have time to read it before I left.  In the end I didn’t read it until lunch-time.  I didn’t like to open it on the train cos everyone would have been looking over my shoulder.  I know I do when there are any letters floating around.

        We went up onto the roof lunch-time today to sun bathe.  It was smashing, ever so hot and I got a gorgeous sun-tan but when I had a bath tonight it all came off.  Pat had a fine time wolf whistling to the chaps passing below, then dropping back so they couldn’t see her.

Pat’s boyfriend’s got a sequel to that ‘How to avoid Matrimony’ type book.  This is called ‘Can this be Love’ and is daft as the other one.  One particular chapter has caused a great laugh around the office but I don’t think it’s very funny cos it’s against me.  It’s headed ‘Does Love Pay’ and one of the paragraphs starts: you get presents:  you don’t have to buy your own:  cuff-links, five-year diaries etc. etc.  they didn’t include tie-pins in that list, as I keep informing the girls. But they won’t shut up about it. still, it brings some excitement into their god-forsaken lives.

I had quite a lot of visitors around my desk this afternoon.  Only trouble was they weren’t visiting me.  I sit next to the only window that gives a clear view of a certain corner opposite where one of the girls’ new boyfriend was waiting.  Everyone was coming to have a look.  He was quite a darling really.  I enjoyed my job of pointing him out to anyone who was interested.  You don’t know what you escaped by waiting in the waiting-room when you came up to meet me.

        I don’t feel one bit like writing.  I’m going through one of my depressed stages.  The weather’s lovely and perfect to be walking hand-in-hand down quiet country lanes and all I can do is sit here and write to you.  It’s not fair, is it?

I went mad yesterday in writing a little note to the milkman – don’t start thinking things, read on – it said, (the note) no I mean, it read, ‘one extra pint white-top please’ and I did it all in fancy writing.  The milkman told mum that ‘that was a good one’ and that he is going to keep it.  (next to his heart I hope.)  He obviously hasn’t got ITV because I copied it from a tv milk advert.

Warning: you’re gonna start having German Whist lessons when you come home or so my esteemed pater seems to think.  He thinks he’s dying at the moment.  The poor dear’s got a cold.  The fuss he makes is shocking.

We suffered a loss last Tuesday.  Mum forgot to turn off the stove in the greenhouse and the temp in there was 90 odd and half dad’s seedlings died.  Boy, was he mad.

I’ve had another letter from Lena.  She sounded ever so pleased that every thing was fixed for her coming over.  She thanked me for the offer to pay for the holiday-camp but she said as she is getting a job for the first three months of the summer she’ll be able to pay for it herself.  I’m going spending mad now and planning a whole new summer wardrobe for yours truly.  I’ve decided the style this summer is going to be ‘sophistication’ so all last year’s clothes are definitely going to go!  I never liked them anyway.  Well, I mean I am approaching the grand old age of 18 and I must do something about looking it.  No longer can one wear short socks and pay half fare on the buses.

I haven’t appreciated until now the opportunities I had of getting to bed early before 4th January.  All these late nights I’m having by writing to you.  Tut, tut, it’s shocking.  Then when you get home I’ll be in bed even later.  Or shall I alter that to, I’ll get to sleep even later.

I’ll leave that ‘one of those questions’ – like – until I’ve got more time.  (or until I’ve thought of a good answer)

Seriously, you wouldn’t believe what I can tell you, so I’ll wait until you get home before I relate the whole story.  I can tell you this:  It was nerve-wracking standing there willing you to ask to take me home and not knowing whether you were just making polite conversation about what time I was leaving.  I didn’t like to say too much in case you thought I wanted to leave by myself.  It is depressing thinking of the past n’est ce pas?  I prefer to think into August.   I love you.  X

Lots of love from


You never did tell what that ‘handsome compliment‘ was, did you?


Letters from Maureen Week 11: 15th - 19th March 1961

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