TWO LIVES

Letters from Tommy to Lorraine written when he was based at RAF Church Fenton near Tadcaster. His letters were censored so he couldn't tell her anything operational. 

11th April 1944

My wonderful, adorable wife,

Many thanks for your letter darling, I hope you have received mine by now. How are you dear? Have you seen a specialist yet? Are those liver oil jobs doing you any good? I do hope so darling.

We are slowly settling down. It has been a lovely day today and it does make all the difference. I'm writing this in my wig-wam (they were billeted in tents) . I've just been making my bed. I try out a new method every day, I think I've really got it organised this time. 

We've been quite busy today but I don't think we should do anything more this evening so I shall organise myself a bath, I certainly need one, Darl-ling! I'm afraid I forgot to arrange our next phone call so I shall try and get hold of you tomorrow or Wednesday. I'll sort out the few photographs I have and send them down to you.

Dearest, darling, is there anything you want? any bullion darling? I'll send a sheet (probably a pound note) just in case. Buy lots of gooey cakes and sticky buns, but please don't make yourself sicky-dog. If you do make yourself sicky-dog or save it or send it back I'll be furious darling. So take care now. 

Well cheerio dear, take very great care of your beautiful self darling. How are you wearing your hair these days? it does seem such a long time since I last saw you dearest.

All my very deepest love for ever and ever and ever adorable Lorraine

Hey-hey 

Tom

My dearest darling Lorraine,

It was lovely speaking to you last night dear. Ever since, I've been imagining you driving round the dirty docks. Just when the nice weather is coming too. What a shame! You'll be so out of place darling. You should have a job amongst some beautiful flowers or something. I hate to think of you at the filthy docks - it's like thinking of you in dirty Wakefield (she always made it very clear that she thought Wakefield was the pits!). I do hope and pray the job will not be too tiring for you dearest. Please take great care of yourself.     

I'm getting a bit brassed off up here. It's such a long time since I saw you darling. Still never mind, I hope it won't be long now. Darling, I've had tents in a big way. Last night it was perishing. I had my stove burning all night and consequently I woke up with a thick head. It was the stove dear! And the food! Darl-ling! I think they expect us to live on spud! Still dear it is not nearly so bad as having to spend all day at the docks. I'm most anxious about you darling. 

Your flat sounds lovely (she was living in New College, Finchley Road). Will you be OK? You'll be able to throw some parties (Please don't, please). 

Cheerio now dearest. All my everlasting, sincere love forever and ever and ever darling Lorraine

Hey-hey

Tom     

Letter from Tommy when he was based at RAF Bradwell near Southminster in Essex, some time in 1944

My dear adorable Lorraine

I do hope you have a nice restful day off. I'm very sorry I cannot be with you but I'm afraid we shall have to suspend the once a week meeting for a short while dearest.

Darling we have been offered a thoroughbred Springer spaniel puppy -- for nothing dear.  Johnny was on leave and he mentioned to someone that our Alsatian had been killed (by a local farmer)  and this person offered him this 8-week old puppy. He did not accept at the time because he did not want to look after it. I've told him I will take care of it and we are going to try and collect it. Is that OK with you dear? I think it will be a very nice dog -- it is a dog darling!  (He called him Grog).

I have not any other news dear. We are not too busy and the weather is not very good.

All my very deepest, sincerest love for ever and every. I love and adore you with all my heart Lorraine.

Hey-hey

Tom 

My dear Lorraine

I'm so sorry I didn't phone last night darling I was flying until 8 o'clock and afterwards I had to rush out to dine with the station-master. It was an awful bind as I was so tired and the small-talk that went on was almost nauseating. 

I've had a very busy weekend dear, I haven't been into Southminster since our phone call but hope to do so this evening. When would it be best for you to have a 48 dear? (two-day break)?

Grog had found a doggy friend, it's a grown-up Spaniel and they get on famously. Did I tell you the young stinker piddled in my room the other evening?

Darling I'd love to see you. Today I feel unhappy because I want to see you so much. Still possibly we'll be able to fix up your visit shortly. 

Darling are you able to get enough sleep now? These things are a confounded nuisance. I do hope you are OK dear. 

All my very deepest love dearest darling for ever and ever

Hey-hey

Tom

A poem Lorraine wrote to Tommy when she was based at Orford

To my darling Tommy

Dearest one in all the world, I

think of you each day.

But when I come to tell my

thoughts, I know not what to say. 

For words are clumsy things at beast,

and hearts are slow to yield. 

The sweet and tender secrets in their

silent depths concealed.

But when I call you 'dearest', just

that word seems to convey, 

the story of my love for you and

though you're far away.

It deepens as time passes, ever

constant, ever true.

Dearest and most precious one

My heart belongs to you.

The Poor Jackdaw -- an absolute fact in 1887-8 -- a poem by Stephen Poyntz Brooksbank

A bird I had once, of most high degree,

His colour was black, as black could be,

He was no more, than a common Jackdaw,

He hadn't a tail and was game in once claw,

He'd far more sense in his shiny black pate, 

Than I've found in most, that I've seen of late.

He'd a peculiar gait and a walk of his own,

Which you couldn't mistake, when he wanted his grub,

His bath in the morning, in his own special tub. 

When the weather was cold, be it frost, be it snow,

He wouldn't come in, not a bit of it, no,

But he'd sit on a brick, or any like thing,

Perched up on one leg, with his head in his wing. 

But to cut it all short, and sum up in a word,

He was, without doubt, a remarkable bird. 

One night it was hot, and he hadn't been seen,

And nobody knew where he was, or had been,

Since his morning bath, which he never forgot,

But that wasn't the thing, where the deuce had he got?

Neither high nor low, he couldn't be found,

So we off to bed ad locked up all round.

Sweet slumbers soon my eyelids closed,

Earth vanished from my sight,

In happy dreams my soul reposed,

All wrapped in dusky night,

What grandest ease and rest we find,

In death's half-brother, sleep.

As slowly o'er our troubled minds,

It's subtle power doth creep.

But I hadn't been long in this blissful state,

When I had to dress at a terrible rate,

With such pains behind, below and before,

That I must confess, I'm afraid, I swore,

Like a peer of the realm, remembering that I

Had supped rather largely, off cold rabbit pie.

But there was no doubt, it had to be done, 

So I up I got as the clock struck one,

And down the garden to that verdant bower,

That's open to all at every hour.

I took a seat as a matter of course,

When a stab from below, I received with much force,

The part of my body then injured was there,

Just below, you know, that you put in  chair.

The shock to my system I then received, 

Without experience would not be believed.

Some minutes elapsed before I had power,

To investigate what had been hid in that bower.

At last, with courage, I approached the door,

And the greeting received was a piteous caw

As much as to say, 'oh help us I pray, 

Come give us a hand, and put us on land'

That sorrowful caw dispelled all my fear, 

And I had no compunction in then drawing near, 

With a helping hand, I set him all right,

And rescued poor Jack from his terrible plight.

With a hop and a stride and three or four caws,

He shook out his feathers, scratched his beak with his claws,

I wished him goodbye and retired for the night,

And never awakened until it was light.

Next morning I found him all serene,

None would have thought, that he'd ever been,

Well, we won't mention where,

But we'll say it was there.

It was twelve months after, I'm sorry to say,

That poor old Jack, on that very same day,

In his own special tub, by chance he was found,

Stiff, wet and cold, for there he was drowned. 

I placed his body down to rest, 

Beneath the cold, cold ground,

Underneath a lilac tree,

His tablet will be found,

Where many times the golden sun

Has shone on his bright head,

That pretty place is only now,

The last home of the dead.

I missed him then, I miss him now,

He gained my heart and love,

Perhaps it may, perhaps not be,

That we shall meet above,

I never see the things he used,

But tear drops fill my eyes,

So great the love for that lost friend,

His memory never dies.    

  

Since I started this website I have had some fantastic input from people who know much more about family history than I do, notably my friend Rosie Novis, who has unearthed some incredible stories.  One in particular about my great grandfather William George Tydeman who committed suicide in a most alarming and gruesome way.  Aged 39, he was a boot salesman employed by a Mr Franklin, boot and shoe manufacturer in Herne Hill. His wife Harriet described how he had not felt well that day in 1903 and did not go to work. After she went out the landlady of the house heard him make a peculiar noise. When Harriet returned home she found him lying on the floor in the back room with his throat cut in a shocking manner. She raised his head but he never spoke. The police and a medical man were sent for.  The landlady, Bertha Goodman said that William had called out her name but she could hardly recognise his voice because he made a terrible noise. When the coroner asked what she meant, she said he sounded like cats fighting.  A small knife was found on the floor and he had cut his throat three times but obviously not enough to finish the job. His employer Mr Franklin told the inquest that William had been a very reliable employee but had been acting strangely for the past three weeks - absent-minded and distracted. It seems he was particularly upset about one of his children who was ill in hospital.  The inquest heard that William had four or five wounds to the throat, one about 5 inches long and all the main arteries were severed but he was alive for an hour and a half after his wife got home. It must have been an agonising death and the details are so graphic, the story really sticks in your mind. My Uncle George said there was always a big family secret about what actually happened to him.