And if it all goes crashing into the sea
If it's just you and me
Trying to find the light
Like ships in the night
You're passing me by
You're passing me by
Like ships in the night
13th June, 1940
Darling Katherine
It has been a pleasure to know you, dearest. From the moment I set eyes on you I knew we were going to be together. And now, we will. Till death us do part, eh?
I know it's been a week, and I'm sorry I haven't written sooner but we've been in training. It's been basic stuff, in our civvies, marching and drilling. It's hard, but the sergeant says this discipline might save our lives some day.
The men in my section are all very different, some from the city, others from the country. As the number two on the Bren, I've been told to get to know the gunner, who's a chipper young thing called Dean. Most of the other men call him Deano, and he seems to love it. He looked very upset when they made him turn in his leather jacket yesterday. Said it was a present from some American bird.
As much as we cried on that morning a week ago, I don't regret this. I'm serving King and Country. Doing my part. And I promise that I'll come back to you. I love you.
Roger.
23rd June, 1940
Dear Roger
I miss you so much. Even though we only shared our marriage bed for one night, it feels strange to wake up without your strong arms around me, without your soothing voice to quiet my fears. The house is so empty. All us wives have been having tea together, trying to give ourselves some strength by voicing our fears. It all sounds so silly when I write it down.
I've been looking in to taking up some work, to help with the war effort. The ammunition factory down the road is looking for women with dexterous hands to make bombs and shells. ?2.15 a week, can you believe it?
The nights scare me. Sirens and explosions stop me from sleeping. Every half an hour I'm running to the bottom of the garden to curl up in the shelter with Ethel and her children. They're little darlings, but at three in the morning, after the hours I put in keeping the house clean it is simply intolerable. But I suppose I must be grateful I'm not in some Underground station with half the borough of Greater London.
Must dash, darling. Mabel is bringing her new baby over for tea and scones. I love you. Come back soon.
Katherine.
27th June, 1940
Darling Katherine,
We've been given our rifles now, and spend as much time on the range as we do running laps or doing push-ups. I feel much fitter, like I'm young again. I think you'll be surprised by how trim I am when I make it back home.
Rifle fire is much louder than I expected, and the way the gun kicks into my shoulder has left me with a bruise, even through the thick woolen jackets we were issued. But Drill-Sergeant Harper says I'm one of the best shots in my section, and that when the war is over, I should consider shooting for the regiment. Pity that my role in the section is to carry extra magazines for the Bren gun.
The air raids have been hitting us out here too. They've been dropping a lot of incendiaries over us in the past week. The section and I are lucky to be so close to the shelter. Others haven't been. We've lost good men in the raids.
The colonel says that we'll be done training by mid-July, but no word of our deployment. I probably won't be able to write for the next week, we're going out on exercise on Salisbury plain. I love you.
Roger.
3rd July, 1940
Dear Roger
Mabel's house got flattened in an air raid. Bomb went straight through the roof and blew it to the ground. Thankfully her and the kiddies were in the shelter with me at the time, and no-one was hurt. Apart from Old Mrs Patterson in number twelve, who nearly died of fright.
I got that job at the ammunition factory. They put me on a line making artillery shells. Great big things the size of my thigh, wrapped in brass and filled with stuff that smells like aniseed. The work is hard, but the other girls on my line are great, all smiles and laughs. I took a cigarette with them on a break, and we might be going out to the pub before curfew. Even though there is a war on, I'm glad for the chance to meet all these people.
I'm glad that you're enjoying yourself, but every night I pray to God that he'll bring you back. I love you.
Katherine.
10th July, 1940
Darling Katherine,
Won't be able to write for a while. We've got our deployment. Keep safe, and good luck with the job. I love you.
17th July 1940
Dear Roger.
I know you can't talk about it, but I hope that you're far from the fighting, wherever they're sending you. People are saying that the African front is turning, and that the Italians are pushing our brave boys into the sea. I've told them it's all rot, but it still scares me.
The ammunition factory is such fun. Even though it's twelve hours in the dark, with grease on my hands and the smell of gelignite everywhere, I don't care. It's wonderful to work, so liberating. I don't know if I can go back to being a dutiful wife after this. I don't think your mother would approve of how the girls here curse like sailors. The Foreman here is a dear, took an half-an-hour out of his shift to show me how to better fill these shells. Because of that, I make an extra shilling an hour.
More money to buy food for the ever growing crowd that's under our roof, since another few houses got flattened. Come back soon.
Katherine.
21st July 1940
Darling Katherine,
We've arrived, wherever here is. It's some unpronounceable name, and I can't say much. An Intelligence Officer told us that the Krauts can read our letters, and send submarines to sink our troop ships, or bomb our bases. Careless talk costs lives, he said.
It's hot though. So very hot. I spend most of the day in my shirt-sleeves, my tin helmet to keep the sun off my face. I've burned all over, but the boys who've been out here a couple of months have said to get used to it. Deano's come down with some exotic fever, after he got bit by an insect the size of my thumb-nail, so I've been promoted to Lance-Corporal, and Bren-gun carrier.
Glad the job's going well, and keep your chin up. I'll give Fritz a kicking and be back in time for tea.
Roger.
29th July 1940
Couldn't wait for your reply to my last letter. Post is temperamental, what with U-Boat attacks in the Atlantic. I'm leaving the base here, to go up to the front. Don't expect to hear from me for at least a month.
I love you.
Roger.
13th August 1940
Roger.
Things have changed. I've been thinking that we might have married too soon. I mean, we'd hardly met each other before we'd fallen into bed, and then into wedlock. I barely know you. And with you gone, that is made even clearer.
Mark showed me that. Mark is what I want in a man. Someone tough, and down to earth. He excites me, Roger. More than you ever could. We're both working down the ammunition factory, and soon along with the money I got from selling the house, we should be able to afford the boat to America when the war is done. A new life.
I'm sorry that I had to break it to you like this. But we're over. Whoever said absence helps the heart goes stronger lied to us both. I've spoken to Father Mitchell at St Stevens, and I won't burden you with the issues about getting our marriage annulled.
I don't know if I'll write again.
Katherine.
25th August 1940
Mrs Gataker.
It is with my deepest sympathies that I write to inform you of the death of your husband, Lance Corporal Roger Gataker. He was killed in action against the Italians on the twenty first day of this month, while on front line deployment with his regiment.
Lance-Corporal Gataker was a valuable member of this regiment, always laughing and joking with the men, but not afraid to stand up to defend his position. A strong man, and a fine husband. He took on the task of Bren Gun carrier, one of the most gruelling task an infantryman can face with gusto, never shirking in training, or in the field.
From what his section commander has related to me, and the accounts of the men who served under him, I have heard that he died a hero, after his section came under heavy fire while on patrol. Lance-Corporal Gataker rallied the men while his Sergeant was injured, providing covering fire from the flank while they pulled him to safety.
With the support of an allied tank, he led a ferocious rear-guard action, staving off the enemy while his platoon retreated into a dried river bed. It was there that the tank was destroyed, and he took a large piece of shrapnel in the belly.
Relinquishing any medical attention, he chose to stay propped up against the tank, with his gun and all the ammunition the platoon had left, to take as many of the damned enemy with him, before his life ended.
A real British hero. I am recommending him for a posthumous Victoria Cross.
With deepest regret,
Colonel William Smythe, Royal Fusiliers.
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