68, Oxford Close,
Sept 12, 1945.
Well, now that the mad rush has subsided a little, I think I can find a minute to give you all the gen on this wedding of ours.
The whole thing took place in a comfortable, un-weddingy looking room and took just long enough to write our names. Sandy was a bit disappointed that I didn’t have to say “obey” but it’s just as well I didn’t for I’m sure I would have giggled. After the ceremony we came home and ate roast pork until we could hardly move, and opened a bottle of liqueur that Sandy brought from France. It was made by the Treppiste monks, and by golly, it certainly was potent stuff, I couldn’t keep awake after one glass of it.
When we did eventually rouse ourselves, we went to Kings Cross and caught the night train to Scotland. We spent only four days there, then Sandy had to report back to Bournemouth, but during that time we crammed in just as much as we could.
We visited Uncle Jim and Aunt [Lan?] in Glasgow, also a host of cousins. They were all very sweet and I was quite sorry to leave. Uncle Jim took us for a car ride to the beginning of the beautiful Western highlands. We didn’t have enough petrol to go to Loch Lomond, but we could see it in the distance. It all quite took my breath away – just hills and hills, all covered with purple heather.
At the moment we are staying at Ullswater in Bournemouth. Sandy will be leaving any day now, so I daresay you’ll see him by the end of September.
Most mornings he has to be on parade, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I would like to walk along the beach, but the place is littered with troops, and they really are such a nuisance that I’d rather stay in and read.
Really had a shock yesterday when I phoned home – my brother answered! I’m just dying to see him, do hope Sandy can get time off before he goes back, I’m sure John would love him. Poor kid had his trunks forced open and a lot of stuff stolen on the way over. Of all the mean tricks to play on a boy.
Sandy and I are certainly not ideal visitors to an hotel, you should see the state of the room when we’ve had a rough and tumble. He’s the most ticklish person I’ve ever known, and there’s always screamin’ and yellin’ and cushions being thrown about.
Hope it won’t be long before I’m over to see you, but I’m afraid it’ll be well after Christmas.
Sandy came in yesterday as I was writing this, so letter writing was finished for the day.
We went to an R.C.A.F. Officer’s dance last night. Sandy was scowling all evening, there being nothing to drink but orange squash, but he did brighten up when we raided the chow table; we piled our plates high with spam sandwiches and cakes, grabbed a bottle of pop and found a corner where we ate in silence for half an hour.
Well I guess you’ve had enough of this, so I think I’ll go and see what’s on the menu for lunch.
Sandy and I had our photographs taken in Scotland. It’s not a bit like me, but I’ll send you one for a laugh.
Cheerio for now