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At home in Mimico, Ont., Audrey watches the mail every morning for word of her husband – his first letters are still crossing the Atlantic – while trying to conceal how much she misses him by keeping busy with their two young daughters.
David has already received several letters from Audrey, including a parcel with hot chocolate to share. He keeps her letters as long as he can, but soon has to burn them because there are too many to carry.
London, Sunday Aug. 17, 1941
Dear Sweetheart,
Sunday evening in London, and everything is closed up. Nothing runs at night any more. I imagine that is to keep people off the streets.
We visited St. Paul's Cathedral and were astonished that it hadn't been hit by bombs. Hitler's playboys really tried to get it and practically every building near it for blocks is a complete ruin.
The worst damage so far in the war was done on Sept 29th 1940 and people here speak of it as the “night London was on fire.” From what we could see the most of it centred around St. Paul's and the bridges, the downtown business area.
But stories of London being flattened are just plain foolishness. Debris is rapidly disappearing and buildings are being rebuilt. Business goes on as usual. Bus, bike and train services are plentiful and efficient. Cars, in spite of a five gallon per month gas ration, seem to be numerous and people are not the least bit gloomy about damages done.
They simply have a supreme confidence in their destinies and know that the Empire will still be doing “business as usual” long after Hitler is only a few lines in a history book.
It's impossible for me to put into words how much I miss having you with me. Nothing I do in the line of seeing new things, to me, or travelling for pleasure, are complete unless you are with me. So I'll just plug along and dream of the day we'll be together again for keeps.
With all my love to you, Anne, Karen and Nanny,
I am as ever
Your David K
P.S. I love you
Dave
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