21st June 1961

June 21st 1961

Wednesday

Darling Alan,

Don’t really know how to start cos there’s nothing very interesting to write about.  It’s been one of those ‘moody’ evenings when I’ve been thinking about you all the time and getting more and more and more depressed.  So I thought I’d write to you.  Trying out that old remedy of trying to bring you a lot nearer.  I’d like to say something nice at this point but to tell the truth I can’t think of anything new.  It’s all been said many, many times before.  Just remember that I’m thinking nice things about you.  You are a dear.

The letter I got from you Monday morning was the first one dad saw of this latest batch.  The other two came by midday post.  He was ever so inquisitive Monday evening and wanted to know what was ‘going on’.  I felt like getting at him – which I often do when I’m in a good mood – and I was just sitting there looking all pleased with myself and wouldn’t say a word.  Then he had a sudden urge to want to see the birthday card you sent him.  He was turning the place upside down for it and got quite choked when mum told him she’d thrown it out.  One of the first things he asked was what was going to happen to Michael now.

It was dead funny last night.  Well, I suppose it was.  Michael came round at 8 and settled down to watch the boxing on tv, then he played cards with dad til he went home at 11.  I hardly spoke two words to him all evening.  When he’d gone I told dad that he doesn’t come round to see me he comes round to see dad.  To which pater replies ‘oh, d’you think he’ll take me out?’  I’m still not sure what he meant by that.  He may have been trying to be funny……..  Needs thinking about…..

I shouldn’t really be sitting here writing.  It’s 11.50 and I’ve got loads and loads to do before I go to bed.  Rotten things like washing two handbags and cleaning two pairs of white shoes that just don’t want to be white anymore.  I’ve had all evening to do them.  I’m getting really lazy.  That’s another of those things that will be different ‘when Alan comes home.’  They had better be or we’ll find ourselves living in a pig sty.  D’you remember, months and months ago in a letter when a lot of chat about cooking was going back and forth, you suggested I watched mum to get the hang of it?  Either that or you’d show me a few ideas of your own when you come home.  I’ve decided I’d much rather wait and be shown a few of your ideas!

I wish you would hurry up and send me answers to some of my questions.  Y’see, I do try and give you something to write about.  Coming home on the train tonight we were talking about your hoards and hoards of brothers and sisters. Once upon a time I asked you what all their names were but I never got an answer.  So! Down on your knees man and beg for my forgiveness – just read that back.  I’m not trying to be nasty, just making writing material.  Did you know that the seventh child of the seventh child is supposed to have superhuman powers?  (Been reading too much Dennis Wheatley.)  We must have seven kids and find out if it’s true.  That sounds familiar.  Have I mentioned it before?

Where’s Kyrenia? And what on earth is a Moral Leadership course?  Surely not what it sounds?

Does your esteemed pater know about the existence of moi? And have you had any more letters from your youngest sister?  I’m dead nosy.  I love to hear what is going on about me.

Monday evening Jennifer had an urge to play Monopoly so mum had to sort out a load of junk stored away in old suitcases at the back of the cupboard.  That’s what gets me about this household.  If I’d wanted it, it would have made too much mess to get it out.  Mum hoards stuff just like I do and she has still got all my 1st birthday cards. She came tearing downstairs, covered in dust and said very proudly, ‘hey, Maureen, you even had a boyfriend when you were one’.  ‘course, my ears pricked up at this and I wanted to know all the whys and wherefores.  It seems there was a boy about three years older than me who lived down the road.  He used to come and talk to me in my pram.  (Please! Only I was in the pram, I mean, I was only one.) and when I used to cry he’d start crying in sympathy.  All I’ve got left of my very first beau is a birthday card inscribed, ‘to my young lady, from Chris.’  How sad!

It made me go all sentimental looking through those cards.  There’s one from dad, who was away in the army at the time and he’d written inside it ‘although you’re much too young to know, this is from your daddy who loves you so.’  How sweet!  He was only twenty- nine then.  It surprises me when I remember things ‘from my younger days’ and realise that I knew my parents when they were only twenty something and thirty something.  Makes me feel really ancient.

Amongst the other junk mum’s got her wedding shoes.  They’re white satin and with a gorgeous point and they fit me perfectly.  They’d be just right for dancing except for one thing.  They’ve got about two-inch thick heels.  Those crazy fashions of the Stone Age.

 

One of the gang at work is eighteen on Sunday.  She says she doesn’t want to be eighteen, she can’t afford it.  She makes us die this girl.  She’s got hay-fever and she keeps telling us that she’s got to go to hospital for it to be analysed.

Must mention something.  Before I met you I’ve never heard of Akrotiri, or if I had I thought it was in the Arctic Circle or somewhere.  Now there’re bods popping up everywhere – well, two anyway.  There’s Carol’s penfriend and the one I am about to inform you of.  One problem is that I can’t remember his name.  it’s Martin, something beginning with T and he’s SAC and he used to go out with a girl in the office’s twin sister.

What happened about the bloke who was writing to the Canadian girl with pots of money who had a wife in England?  Someone was asking after him in work t’other day.  You’ll have to bring your squadron up to the Bank you know.  The girls get vastly interested from the odd bits I tell them about your mob.

Friday 23rd June

Golly, I’m slipping.  I haven’t posted a letter to you since last Monday.

Must tell you about the stir I caused in the office with my gnat bites.  I went in Monday morning after having had hardly any sleep the night before.  I was kept too busy scratching.  The bites had gone all sort of lumpy and they were all surrounded by great red blotches cos I had been at them with my nails.  I looked as if I had caught the hippercrunches or something.  The news soon got around the office that something different had happened and I kept getting visitors who came round saying ‘oh, so-and-so said you’ve got some gnat bites, can I see them.’  I had everyone who was working near me, scratching themselves.  They said they only had to look at me and they started itching.

Anyway, I got fed up with it and half way through the morning I went up to the sister we’ve got installed at our place, she took one look, said ‘My God!’ and almost poured a bottle of witch hazel over me.  She also gave me a sopping wet lump of cotton wool to take back to the office with me.  So I went back and stunk them all out.

Sister said I should have had a hot bath with half a cup of Epsom Salts in it, to bring out the poison.  So, although it was a day late I came home and had a bath.  I’ve still got loads and loads of red blotches on my arms, which is a damn nuisance cos I’ll have to keep a cardigan on at this Midsummer’s Dance we’re going to tomorrow.

 

I’ve been in a little world of my own all day today cos I didn’t have my glasses. We went to Mike’s sports club last night and I put them on to play cards.  When we finished I took them off and put them on the table and left them there.  We’d gone about three stops on the bus before I remembered.  I’ve never moved so quickly.  We jumped off at the traffic lights and went tearing back to find a phone box.  They had already started to packing up when we left so here wasn’t much point in going all the way back if there wasn’t anyone there.  We phoned twice but couldn’t get any answer so I just had to come home without them.  Michael went and got them and brought them round tonight.

It’s been hot today and I’ve been sitting in a stuffy office.  We did try to have some windows open but the cards we were supposed to be sorting sorta did acrobats around the room.

As for my page 20 question….coward.  You still didn’t answer one.  Is whatisname meeting you in the car or not?

Can’t think of much else to write about.  We went onto the roof lunch-time today.  We did try to play cards but spent most of the time chasing them around it was so windy.  I had visions of having to go all the way down to retrieve them, so we packed up.  Pat and I were sitting on my plastic mac.  You ought to see it now. It’s melted.

Dad’s got problems at the moment.  What to get Jennifer for her birthday.  I couldn’t help him.  I couldn’t even help myself.  I’m taking the easy way out and giving her the money.  For which she has agreed to wait til next Thursday, pay-day.

Reckon that’s about it then. Got a headache. Funny, I haven’t had one all day while I was working without my glasses but now I’ve got them back my head’s killing me.

Lots and lots of love from your

Maureen

 

Letters from Maureen Week 24: 18th - 25th June 1961

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