During November 1943, Lawrence (Lawrie) Franklyn-Vaile continued his written dialogue with his wife, Olive, by sending twelve letters to her.
The start of the month saw the Faughs recovering from the heavy casualties suffered by the battalion at San Salvo, with large numbers of reinforcements joining up with them and James Dunnill taking over as commanding officer.
Lawrie returned to the battalion in the middle of the month as he continued to recover from the wounds he had suffered at San Salvo, but is still struggling to come to terms with the loss of so many of his close friends and comrades in October, particularly the death of John Glennie, who had joined up with the Faughs along with Lawrie during August 1943.
Lawrie continues to express concern with Olive’s financial position as well as making comments about the wider progress of the war, including the continuing good progress on the Eastern front.
In the last letter of the month written on the 28th, and updated on the 30th, Lawrie draws attention to the imminent actions to be undertaken by the Faughs, as part of the Irish Brigade’s wider assault across the Sangro River with the intention of breaking through the German Winter Line.
Fusilier Fellowes, Lawrie’s batman in Italy.
November 4th (letter).
My Dearest Olive,
I am enclosing 3 snaps of John with this letter. As it has to go ordinary post and I hope various airmails will reach you written at a later date before you receive this one, I am making this letter not of news but of views which, in general, I never have room for in an airmail.
It is nearly three months since I was fighting hard to restrain the tears on bidding farewell to you at Saltfleet. In actual fact, it seems very much longer. On the whole, I have been reasonably happy here, mainly because I was determined to look at my good fortunes rather than otherwise. I felt, well, we had 2 3/4 gloriously happy years together in N. Ireland, years which developed us both considerably and years which we had not had reason to anticipate when I precipitated myself into the Army on Oct 27th 1939. The misunderstandings, due to my fault, that had been created early in 1939 vanished and I have always been most glad that I was able to give you such a happy time in N. Ireland.
You deserved it because no husband has ever been so fortunate in having such a loyal, energetic and enthusiastic wife. Valerie was all we needed to seal the happiness of our marriage and seal it, she certainly did. So while I felt it unfair to you to deliberately volunteer to come out here at the same time I felt I had no cause for complaint when I was finally chosen and I must say that provided I come out with life and limb, I will feel it an experience never to be missed. However, I have always felt that you have the “worse end of the stick”. The knowledge that much may have happened between the date of my writing a letter and you receiving it, is something much to be dreaded and my only consolation is that your natural bravery and courageous spirit will see you through all these difficulties.
I suppose I am fortunate in not, as yet at any rate, knowing the feeling of fear. Ones stomach turns slightly on hearing that an attack will be launched at a certain hour but after that, I feel perfectly calm and my nerves were icy cold on the night of Oct 27th. What a birthday – as long as I live, I am scarcely likely to forget my 33rd birthday and those of the future will always be clouded because of the thought that on that day another family will be sorrowing because someone very dear to them was killed in action in 1943. By the irony of fate, I have never felt better than on that night.
The noise and danger seemed to stimulate me; at the same time my brain worked clearly and coolly. We advanced far and fast because I used my head and if other hands had not interfered, Johnny might be alive to this day. He was daring, reckless, anxious to try and knock out every machine gun post, but he had a set object in view and I restrained him and I suppose I was the one person who could. One day when we are seated comfortably at home, I will tell you the full story of that grim and tragic night.
I have sometimes wondered if you thought to yourself reading my letters ‘another of Lawrie’s mad friendships’, but I am certain knowing what has happened, you will not think so now. I have that curious instinct that I like to have someone to whom I can give, whom I can help and protect. Frank Higgins aroused that feeling in me and I felt afterwards I went too far. I never really felt the need again. Valerie my own one was there to slowly develop and I took a keen interest in her slowly. So it was the interest of a Company Commander anxious to help and encourage his junior NCOs – in the same respect, in many ways, I took a keen interest in Roy Purcell as a young officer worthy of the fullest encouragement. Desmond Fitzpatrick rather forced himself on me. I don’t mean deliberately, but just because he succumbed to an intense admiration very typical of the southern Irish temperament.
John was totally different. He was a friend in the truest sense of the word. We were on an equal plane and to the pleasure of that friendship, was added the fact that I was able to gently help and guide him but in this friendship I got a full return for all I could do. Wives are notoriously jealous of their husband’s male friends – you avoided it through your breath and vision of mind but I suspect even you, darling, sometimes wondered ‘was it necessary?’, ‘does John Glennie replace me in his affections?’. Well he did not, of course – it is perhaps absurd to say, but, if it is possible, he increased my love for you, for here was someone else to whom I could talk about you for hours, who, such is the gift of friendship, really was interested, and who demanded nothing in return.
If I talked about you to Denis then it was only fair that he should talk about Ingrid to me, with Johnny I was in the fortunate position of being to take all in that respect. One day we were sitting on his bed, I had been talking about you and had eventually dried up and after a couple of minutes silence in which I could see he was thinking deeply, he said very quietly and pensively, ‘It must be wonderful to have a wife you feel like that about – I hope I am as lucky’. Lord knows what I must have been saying, apparently not defaming your character.
He was always very anxious that you should like him and he told me only a couple of days before he died that he hesitated a long time over the letter to you because while he wanted to write, he was afraid he would muddle the letter and you would think him a fool. I always felt you would like him if you met him, that scotch mind, keen, practical, discerning often showed itself beneath the many joyous Irishisms. You know, as well as I do, how seldom it is that one can cast aside all mental reservations, how seldom one can really reveal the true self. I reached the stage with John that I was able to be completely natural. I tend to pose slightly, to wear a cloak which is not always my real colour.
I never posed with Johnny – I was my plain, ordinary self, and he knew just how brave I was, just how fearful I was, just how clever and stupid I was and I presume despite his knowledge of me, he loved me, as he died continually murmuring my name. As he lay there in my arms, he kept on saying at intervals, ‘Frank,’ ‘Frank’, ‘Frank’ and it was the only name he mentioned until he cried for his ‘Mother’ just before the end. That was I suppose my reward, to have produced a love that consciously or otherwise could think of me as he lay dying. But why I ask myself, must he have died, why can those heights of happiness never be mentioned.
I sometimes wonder if it is something in my own nature that raises me to such exquisite heights only to make the plunge more terrible. As I look back, it seems as if every time in my life I have touched the heavens, very soon I have dropped again if not, melodramatically to fall, at least, to plain earth and this time it is very much like hell. Only with you, darling, has life remained constant. Every time I have felt really and intensely happy, at the same time have felt afraid, I have known that soon would come an event to take that happiness away. I was terribly happy with John, I felt I was lucky far beyond my desserts, to leave the wife and child I thought the world of, yet still feel a deep richness and appeared good fortune such as I had not met with before, yet behind it was the nagging fear that it would be taken away – the dreadful presentiment that something would happen to John. How right I was. Apparently I did not deserve it and now it is gone.
You always seemed to consider me a strong personality and that apparently is the general impression. From what was told to me today, my late CO passed the remark to this person that he considered me ‘an extremely forceful, rather ruthless personality just the type he wanted to lead men in action’. When one becomes introspective, a tendency arises to wonder how much is ‘bluff’ and ‘show’ but I think I can truthfully say I am rather forceful, at any rate, I apparently show it to other people and I don’t feel the urge to lean on people, I rather tend to the weaker people who wish to derive strength and the only two people I have ever leaned on or sought strength from are yourself and John. You have always been a great source of strength to me, sweetheart, known when to be sympathetic and when to be hard and John somehow was the same source of strength. It seems funny in some ways, a gay laughing youngster of 20, looking younger, as he appeared to the world, yet to me he was the reliable rock, firm and staunch as Gibraltar itself….
One lovely, sunny day we sat on a ridge and amid a peace that made all of this beastliness seem far away, talked hour after hour. Time stood still and Johnny very much ‘bared his soul’ to me that day, all the troubles and difficulties came out from an unemotional nature and at the end he said, ‘ you will make a wonderful Father, Frank, I envy the son I am certain you will have’. Johnny did not deal out compliments; he said once that he had difficulty in saying what he felt so it made the compliments he occasionally paid me, doubly nice.
Well, it is no good going on. This is a hell of a letter, anyone else reading it will think I am mad but at least I have got a lot off my chest and I think you will understand, darling, I have always adapted the principle “better to love and lose than not to love at all’ so I must bear with the consequences.
Keep the photos, darling, we will try and do something for the boys after, at least we will go and see them and perhaps have them to stay with us, from his accounts and from their photos they appear jolly kids. The sister’s face is vaguely familiar, is it because of the likeness or have we seen them at Omagh? She used to go to the dances. I wrote to the sister straight away and have just written a long letter to the mother telling her simply of the many happy moments of our friendship. I gave all the details to Muriel and told her to use her discretion about passing them on.
How is our dear baby tonight? Very much the little girl I imagine, how I wish I could see you both again.
Thanks for being such a wonderful wife, look after yourself dearest girlie. All my love to you and Valerie.
Your loving husband
Lawrence
November 4th.
My Dearest Olive,
I have just arrived back with the battalion. They wanted to evacuate me further back at the hospital but I protested most strongly and told the doctor I was far better back doing something other than just lying in bed thinking my thoughts, which were far from cheerful. He agreed that under the circumstances to let me return provided I took matters quietly, stopping the night at “B” Echelon with Maginnis. My wounds have virtually healed; they will now close of their own accord. Everyone here thinks I am a bit crazy but I know my own condition and mind best. Apparently people are not usually in such a hurry to return. The stay at the hospital did me some good, especially the sleep which was more than welcome. On the second afternoon, the sister said to me “you will not be able to sleep at night time if you go on sleeping like this during the day”, so I said, “You just watch me, Sister, and you will be surprised how much I can sleep”, and I think I was as good as my word. I certainly needed it.
As you may have guessed from my previous letter, the battalion took a very bad knock in the recent battle The CO was killed – he was a magnificent leader and I thought very highly of him and I think he liked me. Several others were killed but none that you would know, while the losses among the men were very heavy, although there again I don’t think you would know any of them. Hartshorn evacuated me back in his carrier and looked after me very well. It was the blackest day for the “Faughs” in this war and one of the worse of all times.
I have just been going through poor Johnny’s kit, a sad job indeed. I am sending you in an ordinary letter his photograph. He did not like this particular one much – he said it made him look too much like a “tailor’s dummy”, but although it fails to show the gaiety and brightness of his face, at the same time it does give you some idea of what he was like. I think I must have always had a presentiment that he would die. When I asked him for the photo, he said, “Oh I will let you have a better one than that, Frank. I am having some sent out to me “. But I refused to wait, saying that in the meantime I would have this one. I suppose that was another reason why. I put so much into our friendship – I gave him all I had got and at least I had the satisfaction of knowing that he appreciated it and my name was continually on his lips as he lay dying. He once said to me, “I have lot of the woman in me, Frank,” and when I smilingly replied that I knew he had, he hastily said, “I hope you do not think I am effeminate” to which I laughed and said, “I’m the last person in the world to answer to that” which was true for no one was more hardy and strong with such powers of leadership.
He reached the semi-final of the welter weight of the British Army Championship earlier this year after having won the welter weight of the Western Command. But what he did mean was that he was very discerning but seldom gave expression to it and I supplemented It by saying that he liked to be loved, love warmed him as it warms a woman (agreed darling?) and he confessed that what I said was true. Would you write to his mother, dearest, (Mrs S Glennie, Enniskillen, Co. Fermanagh). You write such a good letter and you can say how he wrote to you and how much I appreciated his friendship. I want them to feel we will always be their friends. There is a sister, Muriel, 22, George 14, and Hugh 10.
How are you dearest girl? I am eagerly hoping for some letters when I reach the company. I am dying for news of my darling wife and dear little daughter. I want some letters from you to cheer me up and I want to know all that you have been doing. As far as I can judge from the sparse news, you have done splendidly, but there are many details I am hoping will be filled in. Have you heard from the Vailes? I have written to Pat several times.
All my love precious wife, I wish you were with me tonight.
Lawrence.
November 6th.
My Dearest Olive,
I am still back at ‘B’ Echelon – my wound in the arm has been giving a little trouble and I have to have it dressed each day in the nearby town. Otherwise, I don’t feel too bad, although not bursting with energy – however, a few days of taking things quietly should do me good. It is surprising how even a comparatively small wound shakes one up. The acting CO (James Dunnill) sent me back a message by Maginnis that I was to stay here until I felt quite alright.
I visited John’s grave yesterday afternoon and got a shock when I saw a few yards away the grave of Sgt Farbrother. He was wounded in the attack and I spoke to him the following morning as he was being brought in by stretcher and he said he was not feeling too bad – hence I thought he would recover. However, he had to have both legs and arms amputated so it was the best thing under the circumstances. He had a little son he had never seen. Poor (Lieut) Marmorstein (2 LIR) is missing ‘believed killed’. He had only been out here 10 days and I had not ever had the opportunity of seeing him. I thought very highly of him at Saltfleet and was looking forward to seeing him again, especially after John’s death. Only 3 of his platoon survived. Two officers of the ‘Skins’ (Major Crocker/Lt Hewitt) that I knew very well have both been killed. Honestly Olive, it is a simply ghastly business, you just cannot conceive at home how bad it is – good life after good life goes. Men who have been out here all the time say that the fighting here is very much worse than in N. Africa or Sicily.
I am lucky in having an extremely good batman. My first three were all ‘flops’, but this lad named Fellowes, who comes from Birmingham and was in ‘F’ Coy under me at Omagh is really first class. He has been my batman for a month, looks after me perfectly. I gain, instead of losing, in kit with him, and I never need to give him an order; he anticipates all my wishes and the day after the disastrous attack when I was wounded and struggled on, because I was the only officer left in the company, he was splendid helping and assisting me the whole time. I sent for him as soon as I returned and he has just been telling me that the men have been looking forward to my getting back.
They said I put up a fine show that night – it was well known how attached I was to John and they were all saying they knew how upset I was and how sorry they were for me. A corporal said to him, ‘The Captain has an abrupt manner, but he’s a grand chap and always thinking of the men’. John used to say, ‘I don’t know you can bear being batman to Capt Vaile, Fellowes. Look at the way he throws everything around, you ought to resign and come to me’, and I used to say, ‘Now, Fellowes, I want to warn you, I have the misfortune to live with the two biggest rogues in the Army, if any of my kit goes missing, just look in Major Dunn’s or Mr Glennie’s kit and you will find it’. Happy days. It is sad indeed to think that no longer will a young man smoke all my cigarettes and burn holes in my camp bed, wash basins and blankets. How I used to explode, ‘My God, John, another hole, you really are the limit.’
A letter arrived from you and one from someone else while I was away and the damned fools have re-addressed them to the hospital, so it will be ages before I receive them. It is nearly a month since I had a letter from you – the postal service is incredible. I have just received an airgraph letter from Jim and Jenny. I was very glad to get it. He is going to send me the ‘Labour Monthly’ each month and says they have sent off some cigarettes.
It is amusing listening to the news from home. Accounts of battles sound very mild compared with the bloody business it really is.
I do hope some letters arrive soon, darling. I am just dying for news of you and Valerie.
All my love, precious. I do miss you terribly.
Your loving husband
Lawrence
November 9th.
My Dearest Olive,
I was very glad to receive your letter of 23/10 – also the letter containing three letters from mother and the photos. It is a pity Valerie was not looking up but nevertheless I think it is a very good photo and Denis (Haywood) remarked on how she is growing up. He commented on how fair her hair is. I look at the photo of Helen and I thought, ‘Now who is that. I know that face, but I cannot put a name to it’, and it was not until I turned it over that I realised it was Helen. She seems to have changed a lot. I did not care for the photo much, too exotic looking but still I don’t suppose it is a true picture of her. I was very amused at the story about Valerie and the cat and her demanding lifts from Mr Bennington and as I read it, I thought ‘I must tell John this, it will amuse him’ and, like a douche of cold water, came the realisation there is now no Johnny to tell.
I am sorry finances have not worked out too well but presumably they are improving. Do you mean to say that Jenny did not even pay rent for that period? What damned audacity, whatever reason did she give? If you have her address I should like you to forward it to me and I will send her a letter she will not forget in a hurry. It will not produce the money but, at least, it will let her know my exact opinion of her behaviour.
How much rent are you paying at the Benningtons? I am very keen on trying to save as much as we can, because it will be most useful when I return and it is the one consolation for being away from you to think that at least some money is accumulating. Besides, if anything happens to me it will mean you will have a certain reserve at your disposal. I have still spent only £4/10- since I left home which, in three months, you must admit is not too bad. I have written to Lloyd’s asking them to send me a statement every quarter.
Denis Haywood
I am disappointed over the papers, as I was really looking forward to them. Surely, it is possible to get them for people serving in fighting areas. Ask the next newsagent: ‘What the devil I am being shot at by Germans for, if I cannot, at least, get the papers I want to read?”. I was always able to buy the ‘New Statesman’ and ‘Tribune’ on railway bookstalls so surely it is possible to purchase them somewhere. I should think the head offices of the papers would forward them if, say, a quarterly subscription was paid. It does not seem much to ask – life is boring enough as it is, hanging around half the time with nothing to read and I badly feel the need of something to keep me up to date with what is going on in the world. The news we receive is very erratic although with the great news of Kiev and the rapid advance beyond it, has a very pleasant ring at the moment. Sometimes, we go for several days without news. Listening to the news from Italy and hearing different places mentioned, I suppose you often wonder if I have been to such and such a place. I cannot, of course, tell you at present but one day I hope I will be able to give you a fuller account.
My wounds are slowly healing up – the bit of shrapnel in the chest is working its way out. The arm still tends to be a little painful but is improving, although it was rather swollen last night. However, the MO says there is nothing to worry about but these things take time to heal completely. Denis Haywood came down to see me this morning: he has taken over command of the HQ Coy which is rather a step down. Apparently, morale was very low in his company and of course the Company Commander has to take it at the top. He will probably lose his Majority but is taking it philosophically, realising he is rather in need of a rest and this job is a fairly good change.
Some mail just arrived and I looked at it hopefully but there was nothing for me. Write as often as you can, darling. Are you getting my letters regularly, I am writing every couple of days? How is my dearest little daughter – don’t let her forget her Dad. I am feeling rather depressed today, I have kept remarkably cheerful out here, but I suppose this is the reaction to recent events.
Look after yourself, dear heart, I wish I was with you again. All my love and kisses.
Your devoted husband,
Lawrence
November 12th.
My Dearest Olive,
After writing to say I had not received many letters from you, three promptly arrived in two days dated 27/10, 31/10, 3/11. My heart contracted when I read that Valerie was unwell but I was very relieved the following day to know that she is very much better. You are probably right about the climate not being too good for her. It would certainly be much better in the country. I am glad you have heard from the Rooms and perhaps they will be able to find something. Nottingham seems fairly hopeless – it is pretty grim to think that people like Denis (Haywood) and myself are nearly always in danger of being killed but our wives cannot find a home to live in. I am sorry that finances are still troublesome – cash that cheque for about £15, if you have not already done so. I am not expecting you to save on what I allow monthly. I am well satisfied if you are able to keep going on that, as I will be able to save fairly well out of the remainder each month. By the way, in the event of my getting killed, I understand the pay and allowances go on for three months and by that time pension arrangements are complete. Not a cheerful subject, but I wanted you to know you would not suddenly be left high and dry.
Your little thought, as you wrote in your letter on 27/10, what a grim and tragic birthday I was having. I can quite honestly say that I will never have the slightest wish to celebrate my birthday in the future – it will always bring back the terrible memories of poor Johnny’s death.
I re-joined the battalion proper yesterday and am back with my old company. The men seemed very pleased to see me, I have never courted popularity but a very firm bond was established that night between us. A considerable number came up and said how pleased they were to see me back with them. Amazing rumours get around – the story had got around that I was seriously wounded. From what one or two “higher up” have said to me apparently it seems to have been considered, I put up a very good show that night.
I think that if I had not been away wounded, I might have got command of the company – certainly I feel if the old CO had lived I would have, but the new Company Commander McNally is a very decent fellow indeed and a fine soldier. In any case, he is senior to me and we get on very well together, so it does not matter. The new CO is a first rate fellow – he told me last Sunday to stay back a few days at “B” Echelon and rest and today he said he was very pleased to see me back with the battalion and hoped I felt quite alright.
Desmond Woods (2 LIR) invited me to his Coy HQ this afternoon and we swapped experiences. He also had an exciting time. He seemed to think my experiences were particularly grim. He had liked John very much in the 7/R.U.R and was terribly sorry over his death. He said it must have been simply ghastly for me but it was the only thing I could do and I must have been glad I had been there. Two or three people, I had never even mentioned the subject to, said it must have been a dreadful experience and they did not know how I stood it. I was rather annoyed and said “What the hell do you think I would do, leave my best friend to die by himself?”.
The wounds are healing quite nicely – although a little sore, I would not like to do any strenuous PT but otherwise I feel alright and am glad to have something to occupy my mind. The weather has been rather wet of late, not much sign of sunny Italy, and everything around here is choked full of mud. The weather is quite cool as well. The news from Russia seems marvellously good and it is beginning to look as if it will not be too long before they have completely cleared Russian soil of the Germans.
The German has a very unpleasant habit of placing booby traps under dead bodies. Yesterday, a party of our men went to bury some of our dead, the booby trap went off and 5 were seriously injured. They even do it to their own dead.
An airmail letter arrived from Ted today, it was quite interesting – he said he has written to you a couple of times, I hope you will reply darling.
All my love to you and Valerie, my own precious wife.
Your devoted husband
Lawrence.
November 15th.
My Dearest Olive,
Have just received your letter dated 7/11. They seem to be coming much faster now, although I am still waiting on the letters sent to N. Africa to fill in the gaps regarding the earlier news. I was very relieved to know that Valerie is nearly better, as I was most anxious about her. I expect I would notice an enormous difference in her now. It will be a happy day when I see both of you again.
We are taking matters fairly quietly at the moment, doing a spot of re-organisation and light training under our new CO (Lt-Col Dunnill). He is a very good fellow indeed, who has been out here since the start of the N. African campaign and has been wounded three times. His ideas are very sound and sensible and everyone is very glad to have him here – after the disaster of a couple of weeks back, we were wondering who we would get in charge. We needed someone who understood the Bttn and knew what it has been through and we have the man. I cannot mention his name, but in any case it would not convey anything to you.
We are living at the moment in a very small farmhouse. The three of us occupy a small room – above us hangs from the ceiling, dry tobacco leaf and the rats run around in it at night time. Our sleep is disturbed by the continuous rustling. Everything is very muddy as we have had a lot of rain lately which is very much to the advantage of the Germans.
Denis (Haywood) and I have managed to get together a fair bit lately and have had several long talks. He feels very bitter against many things that I cannot very well mention. He is very much harder and more cynical – as he says, the ghastly wastage of life makes one wonder how much it is all worth. In his opinion, after a time, self preservation becomes the sole factor and one becomes utterly callous towards even the death of friends. He does not seem to adopt the view of some armchairs individuals that war ennobles the human character. Ingrid has managed to get together with another Norwegian girl and they are sharing a house in Westmorland and are quite comfortable. She sent her love to me and congratulations on my regaining my Captaincy and asked whether you had managed to get settled.
I read the following which is more or less word for word in a letter this morning “You remember our Platoon commander who I told you got killed recently. Our Captain thanked us for the way in which we fought with him yesterday. He was very nice and we all felt very sad and sorry for him because they were real mates and always knocking around together. In their spare time we never saw one without the other. The Captain has changed a lot since he came back from hospital – he is very quiet now and we know he misses him an awful lot. He told us we were to look on him as a real friend, because of what we had done”.
I had got the dozen survivors of John’s (Glennie) platoon yesterday and had this quiet little chat with them telling them that I deeply appreciated what they had done that night, as they knew he was my greatest friend and I thanked them for that reason.
There is a fashion here to refer to the fusilier as “the pig man”, or “the lowest form of life” Talking to the lads yesterday, I suddenly seemed to be outside myself and while I was talking I looked at those faces, listening very quietly, very intently and somehow each man seemed to have lifted out of the dull, brutal act of war and on their faces was expressed an emotion, a light seemed to shine, and in their thoughts, they somehow sub consciously paid tribute to a leader they had loved and respected. I feel as if the small group of us there in a ring, that John in dying, forged a link between these men and I, that because of him, come what may, there will always be a comradeship between us.
I wonder if you understand my feelings. You have never passed any comment up to the present on the various subjects I have discussed or on my friendship with John. I would like you to give an opinion on different things that I discuss, because your views are always very sane and I don’t know whether we are always sane out here. Discussing matters on paper is the one way we have now of keeping our minds active, don’t let us let them drift apart as so often occurred in the last war.
Give Valerie a great big kiss from her Daddy and a whole heap to my own dear little wife.
Your devoted husband
Lawrence
November 16th.
My Darling Olive,
Have just received a lovely letter from you dated 9/11. I cannot express how grateful I am, sweetheart. It was a most beautiful and understanding letter, which I will always cherish. How absolutely typical of you, all through our married life when a crisis has occurred, you have risen to the occasion, you have shown your bigness and width of spirit and character and so it was on this occasion. To think that only yesterday I wrote wondering if our minds could keep attuned. I should be kicked for ever doubting it and not realising that the only reason why you had previously not commented about John was because of absence of mail. My only excuse, precious, is that we got through such a lot here that we all sometimes wonder how we will react afterwards. Dicky Richards worried about it quite a lot to me one night and even Denis (Haywood) has sometimes wondered.
Curiously enough Denis was thinking along the same lines as you when we discussed the subject a couple of days ago. He does not believe in an after life but he felt that in some way Johnny’s spirit would live on to help and influence me. I would rather like you to keep his letter. I should like to read it sometimes. It is sad to think he knew you so well without ever having met you. He seemed quite certain you would meet one day and he used to wonder if you would like him. Somehow, I always felt you would and I used to tell him that just as he was my great friend, so I knew full well he would become yours and seemed very pleased.
I did suffer terribly and I am still suffering terribly. It is no use saying anything else but I do have the consolation of knowing that my love for him was returned in full and he knew that, right to the very end, my friendship stood the test. Of course I carry on – don’t think I slack on my job or anything like that. I get on very well with McNally and I carry on as one must in the normal way but I cannot get him out of my mind – only one in the millions suffering and dying, but to me the indescribable tragedy of it all. But I will say I have been immensely cheered and heartened by your letter, dearest. I realise yet once again what a wonderful wife I have and I can only say in the deepest sincerity that I am eternally grateful and will never forget it. People who do love and understand one another very deeply seem sometimes to have some form of telepathy. Ingrid had the same feeling about Denis once when he was going through a particularly bad time. I only hope you don’t get it too often though, darling. I expect by now you will have written to his mother. I wonder how they will take it – badly I fear. I wrote in the first place to her about the time he wrote to you, but I expect by now, she has been informed of his death.
Porter has just returned to the battalion from N. Africa and came across to see me. He looks much the same except he has grown a moustache. He sent his very kindest regards to you and was very interested to hear about Valerie and the dogs. Very calm and philosophical is Porter, very little altered. I have a great respect for him. Hartshorn has been slightly wounded in much the same way as I was and is in hospital. Dick Unwin, another officer with me at Saltfleet, has been killed. He was 21!
Edward (Gibbon) has had to revert from Capt to Lieut. Edward has been out here ever since the beginning but owing to his job has seen very little action…. He has changed completely since the old days and no longer cares about his appearance and lacks interest. I have got on very well with him and would not make any accusations against him but when I think of the glorious bravery and inspiring leadership of John (Glennie), well I don’t feel bursting with sympathy. The man I feel sympathy for is the one who has seen a lot of action and is now getting that ‘tired’ feeling like poor Dennis Dunn or our own Denis. Maybe I am wrong, but an officer has just got to sacrifice his personal feelings and show no weakness in front of the men. Johnny was as brave as a lion in the ‘line’ and not a bit regimental. Edward is very regimental out of the ‘line’ and in – well?. Douglas is in hospital with jaundice and Frank Higgins is in hospital with a perforated ear drum.
I am very glad you get on well with Ann B.
Look after yourself, precious, this will end sometime and we will be very happy again together with our dear little Valerie. All my love and kisses.
Your grateful husband
Lawrence
November 18th.
My Dearest Olive,
Received an airgraph from you dated 25/10 and headed Pbii. Presumably Pbi is somewhere on the way. It infuriates me to read about Jenny – how ever did she have the audacity to refuse to pay any money, what excuse or reason did she give? I hope you will let me have her address and I will write her my best letter. I am deeply sorry I did not get her out during embarkation leave, but she made so many promises about paying back what she owed etc and I did not want to spoil the last leave with rows, so I let it go, thinking it would be alright. …Johnny used to say he never knew anyone who could impact so much venom into so few words and there will be quite of lot of venom on this occasion.
I have got rather a nasty cold at the moment and do not feel over well. I have not really felt fit since my wounds – don’t get alarmed as it is just that I don’t feel in that peak of condition that you know I have often felt in the past. The weather has been rather chilly and wet of late and that may be partly accounting for it. It is dark just after 5, which makes a dreary evening as sometimes we are unable to use any light. When we are sheltering in an old farmhouse, as at the moment, we have a hurricane lamp but the surroundings are rather gloomy. Still, it is better than sitting in a slit trench which we have to do often enough. Our hours of retiring to sleep are a trifle early compared with ordinary standards.
Major Desmond Woods 2 LIR
I have just heard that McConnell was killed early in September, only a few days after we said good bye to one another. The news came from a new draft that has just arrived, who said it was reported at Saltfleet shortly before they left England. Poor old Mac, a nicer chap one could not ask to meet and as you know devoted to his wife who he had only married 18 months before and spent very little time with. He was eagerly looking forward to settling down after the war and having some children. Of the six of us at Saltfleet early in July, four have been killed in that short time – only Desmond Woods and I are still alive, I should imagine if there is any sort of law of averages, we should stand a reasonable chance of survival.
The platoon Sergeant of 12 platoon (Johnny’s old platoon) told me that the lads were very touched and extremely pleased with my talk to them. He said they are tremendously proud of their platoon and keep on impressing on the newcomers what a great fighting platoon they belong to and what a reputation they have to live up to. The Sergeant Major thinks that morale in that platoon is far higher than any other in the battalion. I feel sorry for the platoon commander who has to take them over – they were devoted to John. I am letting their Sergeant command them as long as possible – he is a very good fellow and I keep a friendly and helpful (I hope) eye on them and so far the arrangement is working very well. Some people in this battalion thought John had a very off hand manner; perhaps he had towards those he did not care much about, but I have found that those he liked, as he liked his platoon for example, thought the world of him. Several of them asked me if I could let them have a photo of him.
Denis strongly agrees with your theories on telepathy and about the influences of houses. He remembers you discussing the subject at Omagh. Have you heard from Susan lately? I should soon be getting a reply to my letter to her. Have you kept in touch with any people in St. Albans such as Allan and Molly. I have written to them; also Freda Revill. It was a great pity about Pat’s baby. I expect it was a big blow to her.
All my love and kisses, most precious of wives, one day we will be together.
Big kisses for Valerie.
Lawrence.
November 21st.
My Dearest Olive,
Have just received airgraph Part 1. Very interested to read about Valerie and the dog given by your mother and Eileen. It amazes me how fast she seems to be coming on and speaking quite a lot. I never thought she would speak so many words so soon. Perhaps it is just the proud father speaking, but I must say she seems to be advancing faster than most children. God, what I would give to be with you both again. I was showing Porter some photos of Valerie this afternoon and was greatly tickled, thought she is a grand child and is looking forward to seeing her in person. I miss Johnny a lot when I read your letters, perhaps it is just pure selfishness but it was grand to have someone to turn to and read out those interesting little bits. I am the type that naturally cares to talk about my loved ones to all and sundry but Johnny was always so interested and asked for more. Of course Denis and I swap tales about our wives and children but sometimes several days pass before I see him as we may be separated by the situation. I am very glad she is such a lively young spark.
(NA 8816): The Sangro river
Just at the moment, I am suffering from what is known as “desert sores”. These wretched things apparently started in the desert and seem to follow the 8th Army. No one really knows what is the cause – our MO thinks it is partly the perpetual tin food and lack of variety, the sweat and dirt that gets into any cut and they develop if one is feeling at all ‘run down’ in health. Dennis Dunn had them very badly just before he was killed and said he would have ‘gone sick’ but for the impending battle. Dicky Richards had them fairly badly recently, Tony Pierce was very bad in N. Africa. They are much the same as normal sores except they are painful and spread rather considerably. I have one on my left hand, a very large one on my right wrist, another on the right elbow and a very painful one on my leg. The leg one is half way between the knee and the foot and makes it quite painful to walk. The MO (Captain Rawlings), an awfully decent fellow, is treating me and I hope they will be better in a few days time as It is very irritating and very unpleasant. I felt extremely fit up to the 27th and was thinking how well I was surviving conditions out here, but I must admit I have been feeling off colour ever since.
The Sergeant Major of the Coy at Saltfleet arrived out here a few days ago and told me that they heard at Saltfleet just before they left that I had been wounded. The proprietor of the New Inn said to him “Do you remember Mr FV that was here? He has been wounded’. I think it was rather anticipating the event as I cannot see how the news could possibly travel so fast. When he first arrived in Italy, he enquired about me at the Base Camp and was told I was recovering. Arthur Davis is going along there very happily. One of my youthful NCOs at Omagh, ‘Ginger’ Rhodes, also arrived with the draft. He was a very good lad under me but fell foul of Mack and lost his stripe. Sgt Tom and the others were very indignant about it. I told McNally his history and he was all for giving him his stripe back so that has been duly done and ‘Ginger’ who will, I think, make a good NCO in the field, is very pleased about it.
As you have no doubt been reading in the papers, the weather is bad out here and we are continually surrounded by seas of mud. A big change from a little time ago. We have been having rather a wet and muddy time of it recently. Plenty of rain and very little shelter. Stumbling around in the mud at night is far from pleasant – how I miss John’s cheerful smile and Irish jokes. The one man I have met who never grumbled, when everyone else was grumbling he would say, ‘You know, Frank, we are not having it nearly as hard as we might’.
Hope you are keeping well, precious, and are comfortable. Have you heard anything more from the Rooms?
All my love and kisses, dearest little wife. A great big kiss for Valerie.
Lawrence
November 23rd.
My Dearest Olive,
Received your letter dated 11/11, another delightful letter. In it you say, ‘This is first time since our marriage that I am totally unable to help you and I feel it very much’. Darling, how utterly wrong you were – your last two letters have helped me enormously and I am deeply grateful. It has been marvellous to feel you understand so well and I humbly apologize if some of my letters in the last couple of weeks have appeared rather off hand. I know you will understand and forgive me. It has been a time of great mental stress but at least I feel much happier in the last few days. It is indeed good to have a wife who knows and understands me so well and is just the same in the rain as in sunshine.
As regards John’s appearance, he had very fair hair, blue eyes, was about 1 inch smaller than me. I cannot speak much about any habit of rolling cigarettes because he used to smoke most of mine but I remember on one occasion when the three of us were completely without cigarettes, Dennis Dunn produced some tobacco and Johnny proceeded to skilfully roll some cigarettes. You might tell me what it is all about. Does Sally think she knows John or did he give you some clue in his letter that makes you think you had seen him? In any case, you ought to be receiving the photos of him I sent very shortly. I wrote to Muriel Glennie at the same time I wrote to you so it is quite possible the letter reached her before the War Office telegram. Places a big responsibility on the poor girl, but she asked that I should write if anything happened and from John’s account she seems very sensible so I presume she will find a way of breaking the sad news gently.
I have had two letters from Pat Vaile, one dated Aug 26 and the other Sept 6th. Very bright cheerful letters they were and I was most pleased to read them. She is a fine girl. Have you heard at all from Philly or seen anything of him?
Remember when I was telling you about Edward in a recent letter. …I decided I would have a talk with him and today we managed to get a short walk together. He said he would like to leave the battalion and that I was the only real friend he had here. A remark I felt far beyond my desserts, as wrapped up alive and dead in Johnny I had taken very little interest in him. However, we had a very good talk and he was able to un-bottle quite a good deal which is not easy with him and at the end he said, “You are a real friend Lawrie, I’m terribly grateful”, so I suppose I have managed to do some good….Probably a change for him would be the best thing….So once again, I revert to having someone to lean upon me, my sturdy ‘rock’ has departed.
My ‘desert sores’ are on the whole getting a little better although I am still having some little trouble and discomfort. The MO’s treating me for them and making a good job of it. I have had a bit of a cold during the past few days but it is a little better today. Funny to think that at this time last year, I was engaged in a violent Battle Course at Barnard Castle. I was not enjoying it particularly but at least I had the thought of returning to you shortly.
We don’t get much news from home but the Russian campaigns appear to still be going very well although the Germans seem to be stiffening in the south. Still, they must make a fight sometime.
Reading of what Valerie is doing is always a great source of pleasure and delight. She certainly is a grand child. Send some photos when you can, although I know the weather is bad now.
All my love and kisses, precious
Lawrence
November 25th.
My Dearest Olive,
Received your airmail dated 14/11. I am sorry there was a gap after my first one from hospital but the reason, of course, was that I had no more airmails and had to wait some days for another one. Valerie certainly is a real character. I was very amused about her tickling Eileen, and I wish I could see the imp and her mother again.
I received a letter from Mrs Glennie. It was written on 10/11 and to me made very sad reading, because at the time of writing she had not heard of John’s death, although my letter to his sister must be arriving at anytime then as it was sent at the same time as I wrote to you. Her letter was written in answer to my equivalent to the one John wrote to you. She says, ‘It is a real comfort to me to know he has a friend such as you….. I am more than grateful for your brotherly affection and help to him. I feel he is so young to have to face all the horrors of war and so innocent …. God grant you will both be spared to come safely through and remain together to the end … Please God nothing will happen to either of you… It must have been a great wrench for you to part from your wife and little daughter and I am glad Gordon was able to help make times a little more bearable for you’.
You can guess I did not feel over happy on reading the letter. They are an ordinary decent lower middle class people who sacrificed themselves so that their children might have a better education than they had had, as John told me they spent money they could ill afford to send him to one of the best public schools in N.Ireland and their reward is his death at the age of 20. As she herself says, she is but one of many but I do feel terribly sorry for them – they were so obviously devoted to him. Of course, he was not as innocent as she thought but some Mothers will think that and he did have a very clear, decent mind. I hope you will, if you have not already done so, write to her. I feel that they will like to keep our friendship. I hope you have kept his letter to you, you have never mentioned what he said but it is something I would like to read one day.
I understand your feelings regarding Germany and Austria but cannot completely agree. I still feel it is not the ordinary German to blame, as they slid into it in the same way as so many of our own people did. I am still certain the ordinary decent German citizen wanted no more than anyone else. No indeed, you must go far deeper than that. You know the people I blame for it all and hate a hundred times more than the unfortunate German soldier who fires a gun at me simply because he has no alternative. Those are the people I will fight against, if I live through this struggle. We have got to win the war now and that is why every huge raid on Berlin, for example, serves a useful purpose despite the misery it causes, but I hope there will come a day of reckoning. John’s death has altered my outlook in many ways, I sympathise far more deeply now than I could have done before with your Uncle Harry and Aunt Lily in their desire that Kenneth should be out of the fighting. How terrible for her, in particular, if anything happened to him?
My ‘desert’ sores seem to be healing – the MO’s treatment is quite good. You remember the two Intelligence Corp men, Pollock & Naylor who came to tea one day at Omagh. I met Naylor, the young one, yesterday. He is a L/Cpl in the Field Security, and he came running across to speak to me yesterday and I had quite a talk with him. Pollock is also out here.
Your letters have just arrived from you, one dated 15/8, the other 15/9 also an airgraph from George Barnett dated 11/11. You certainly had a trying time in getting from Saltfleet to Nottingham. Thank goodness all that is over and you are reasonably settled. How are finances? Let me know how much you have cashed the third cheque for, in order that I can have some idea of my bank balance. It should be steadily improving now as I still have drawn no more than £4/10-. As far as possible, I would like you to manage on the £20 because it means a nice little balance is mounting, which apart from anything else will be very useful to you, if anything happens to me but if you want extra money for anything, let me know and I will instruct Lloyds by airmail to pay it to your account.
All my love and kisses, dear precious wife, I am always thinking of you.
Your devoted husband
Lawrence
November 28th.
My Dearest Olive,
Am writing this under rather uncomfortable conditions so you will have to excuse the scrawl. It is a bright sunny Sunday afternoon but we are all very dirty, unshaven and generally the aspect is not unduly peaceful although there is no especial danger to me.
Yesterday, I received a letter from Muriel Glennie in answer to my one telling her of John’s death. It was a very fine letter and I felt very sorry for the poor girl having to travel from Omagh to Enniskillen to break the news to the parents who were heartbroken at their loss. She says, “Oh it hurts so much to think of him ‘wee Gordie’ as everyone in Enniskillen is saying – dying away out there”. She said there had been a constant stream of folk calling who loved “Gordie” as they say. If I am ever glad I did a thing, it was to write to his mother earlier. they all seem extremely grateful and touched by that letter – in fact they magnify it out of all proportion.
I must say I was very touched by the unselfishness of the letter. They had just suffered a terrible loss and people at such a time can well be encased in selfishness, but she said that all their thoughts were with me now and they would all pray for “my safe return to my home and loved ones”.
She wants to get in touch with you, saying “I would like to know your wife’s address. I have been thinking of her – somewhere – and how anxious she must be all the time and would like to write to her”. The Omagh address where she stays all the week is T.R.E (South West) Office Military Depot Barracks, Omagh. However, I expect you have already been in touch with them. She finishes up by saying, “I think of you as my older brother – Gordon’s brother”. How sad the whole terrible business is and how many homes are the same. They seem terribly pleased over our friendship and glad that I was with him to the end and apparently he wrote them very happy letters so at least that is something. There is not much romance about it out here, darling. The only good thing is the fine spirit of comradeship. How quickly people forget. Of course, it could not be otherwise. The old members of his platoon still talk about him – one sometimes hears them saying, “Mr Glennie said this” or “We asked Mr Glennie that”. He is never really absent from my thoughts, but of course to everyone else he is just another officer “killed in action” and such forgetfulness would be the fate of all of us. Even our late CO (Lt-Col Butler) has been very quickly forgotten. Poor Johnny, I feel very alone without him.
(NA 9152) : Sherman tanks passing through Paglieta.
My “desert” sores have nearly healed now. I have a rather irritating cough and cold but then most other people are the same. These nights in the open air are not particularly conducive to curing it. We hear lots about “sunny Italy”, but whatever the days may be like, the nights are damned cold. I shivered and froze in my great coat last night and slept very fitfully and tonight does not promise very great warmth. Matters were made worse last night by the fact that we had to wade across an icy river, I could not help smiling when I heard my runner say, “Jesus, it’s cold”, in such a surprised tone.
Fellowes, my batman, still continues to look after me splendidly. He is a grand lad. The other day, the four second in commands had to go on a recce. The other three sat hungrily awaiting for the remainder of their companies to arrive, but the fourth, myself, had a magnificent dinner provided by Fellowes from heaven knows where. He comes from Birmingham and is a very bright, pleasant lad who creates a good impression wherever he goes. I will never forget the way he looked after me the day I was wounded – it was very fine and more especially as we were being heavily shelled for hours on end.
I have run out of my present supply of available airmails and it will probably be some days before I can get some more. Consequently, do not worry if it is a few days before you hear from me – this is bound to be unavoidable at times. Look after yourself, precious and write as often as you can. I live for your letters.
All my love and kisses to you and dear little Valerie.
P.S. Still fit & well on the 30th.
Lawrence