介绍： Louise Brealey reads from My Dear Bessie

Transcript:

6 February 1945

Darling, darling, darling,

This is what I've been waiting for. Your freedom left me dumb and choked up. But now, oh now I feel released. Oh, Christopher, my dear, dear man. It is so so wonderful. You are coming home. Golly, I shall have ...

介绍： Louise Brealey reads from My Dear Bessie

Transcript:

6 February 1945

Darling, darling, darling,

This is what I've been waiting for. Your freedom left me dumb and choked up. But now, oh now I feel released. Oh, Christopher, my dear, dear man. It is so so wonderful. You are coming home. Golly, I shall have to be careful. All this excitement is almost too much for my body. You must be careful too, darling. All this on top of what you've been through, it's difficult to keep it down, but you can't help the excited twinges in your midriff, can you? Do keep well, angel. I shall have to say that to myself as well.

Marriage, my sweet, yes, I agree. What you wish, I wish. Whilst you're afraid, you will not be happy. We must get rid of these fears between us. Also confidentially, I too am a little scared. Everything in letters appears larger than life size, like my photograph. It didn't show the white hairs beneath the black, the decaying teeth, the darkening skin. I, I think of my nasty characteristics, my ordinariness. Yes, I too feel a little afraid. So, I can't be bothered with that now, for we are going to meet. Does anything else matter, Chris?

Oh, dear, dear me, plan a week somewhere. Oh! Up comes my heart. A week somewhere, by the sea, with you. Where shall we go? Of course, I'd choose North Devon, sea, country and air. But March raises the question of weather. Might we go to a largish town? I prefer villages normally. But with you, I guess I'll do what you want. Also I feel that you'll need looking after. I don't think you should walk around in the rain, not for a while anyway. Guess I don't care where, as long as it's the sea, and you, you, you. Inward clangings and bouncings, and I wonder how soon.

Now, I say to myself, "Bessie, my girl, you're not so hot." But I think you may have the similar feeling. I say, how is your digestion? Mine's awful. I should be reduced to taking Rennies or something, a wind remover. My tea, at this moment, is stuck somewhere in the middle of my chest.

I can't help wishing that you won't get these letters, that you'll be on your way, that the time to wait is that short. Because my impatience is getting pretty bad. Being able to write like we have has been a wonderful thing. But it has always remained only the beginning of contact for our future. And the beginning must change to something else. And now it is changing.

What do you think of the war news? I don't like getting too optimistic. But wouldn't it be wonderful to come home to stay?

I love you,

Bessie