My dearest one,

I have just heard the news that all the Army men taken POW are to return to their homes. Because of the shipping situation we may not commence to go before the end of February, but would count on being in England sometime in March and maybe sooner. It’s made me very warm inside. It is terrific, wonderful, shattering.

I don’t know what to say. And I cannot think. The delay is nothing, the decision is everything. Now I am confirming in my head the little decisions I’ve made when contemplating just the possibility. I must spend the first days at home. I must see Deb and her mother. I must consider getting a party somewhere. Above all I must be with you. I must warm you, surround you, love you, and be kind to you. Tell me anything that is in your mind. Write tons – write tons and tons and tons and plan our time. I would prefer not to get married, but want you to agree on the point.

In the battle I was afraid - for you, for my mother, for myself. Wait we must, my love. For my darling, let us meet, let us be, let us know. But do not let us now make any mistakes. I am anxious, very anxious that you should not misunderstand what I have said. Say what you think. But please agree – and remember, I was afraid. I am still afraid.

How good for us to see each other before I am completely bald. I have some fine little wisps of hair on the top of my head. It’s not much good me trying to write about recent experiences, now that I know I should be able to tell you everything myself within such a short time.

What I have my eye on now is the first letter from you saying that you know I am all right and the next saying you know I am coming to you. I must try to keep out of hospital with some of these post-POW complaints. Plan a week somewhere, not Boscombe or Bournemouth. Think of being together. The glory of you.

When I was captive I used to try to contact you and think hard. ‘Bessie my dearest, I am all right. Don’t worry, Do not worry.’ I never felt that I got through somehow. But now it is over and you know I am all right and I am going to be with you soon to join and enjoy. Do not get very excited outwardly. I am conscious of the inner turmoil, the clamour. But I am not too much outwardly joyful. Moderation is my advice. Watch the buses as you cross the street.

We were free of duties and yesterday we went to our friends in Athens, taking some of your coffee and cocoa, which they were very pleased to have. Thank you for sending it. We were embraced very kindly, kissing and so on, continental fashion.
I hope you will not start buying any clothes if you have any coupons left because you think you must look nice for me. I should be sorry if you do. Just carry on as near as possible to normal. My return at the present time allows us to make public our mutual attachment. I shall tell my family I hope to spend a week away with you somewhere during my leave. My counsel to you is to tell as few people as possible. Which for someone like Miss Ferguson, you could politely reply to her observations that You thought it was your business rather than hers. Try to avoid preening yourself and saying much. This is my advice, not anything but that. Hope you understand. I do not ever want it to be anything but our affair. Do not permit any intrusion. I do not know how long a leave I shall get. I could get as little as 14 days I may get as much as a month. I’m wondering how I shall tell you I am in England. Probably still quicker to send a telegram than a letter. I hope to send you one announcing that I am on the same island. I would send another one I am actually soon to get to the London bound train and you can ring Lee Green 0905 when you think I have arrived there. You must bear in mind that I shall be with my brother until we get home. Also that having been away from home for so long, my parents will want to see a lot of me. I hope everything will work itself out without unhappiness to anyone. I shall be in great demand from two or three points and it will be difficult to manage without offence. It’s a strange thing but I cannot seem to get going and write very freely. All I am thinking about is I am going home, I am going to see her. It’s a fact, a real thing, an impending event like Shrove Tuesday, X’mas Day, or the Lord Mayor’s Banquet. You have to be abroad, you have to be hermetically sealed off from you intimates from you home to realize what a gift this going-home is. The few letters of yours that I had on me I burnt the day previous to our surrender so no one but myself has read your words. In the first 10 days of our captivity I did not think any soft thoughts about you - all I did was concentrate on telling to you, trying to tell to you that I was all right. But when we had a few supplies dropped off by aircraft at great risk to themselves in the misty snow bound mountain villages and we started hoping we might sent home upon our release. I was always wondering about you, about us.

It’s a pity that the winter weather will not be kind to us out of doors. It would be nice sitting next to you at the pictures no matter what may be on the screen. It would be grand to be having each other’s support and sympathy. It would be wonderful to be together - really together in the flesh, not just to know that a letter is all we can send.

Love you,Chris.