DIY History | Transcribe | World War II Diaries and Letters | Helen Fox Angell letters to Bess Peebles Fox, July 1944-April 1945 | 1944-08-09 Helen Fox to Bess Peebles Fox Page 1

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Helen Fox Angell letters to Bess Peebles Fox, July 1944-April 1945

1944-08-09 Helen Fox to Bess Peebles Fox Page 1

Yes, dried apricots would be very nice to send me. No chocolate though, as we're well stocked.
August 9, 1944
Dear Mother,
I've had two letters in the last few days, number eleven and twelve. The first one made me laugh when I first read it and then it made me angry when I got to thinking about it. So I waited to write until I got the next and hoped it would mollify me. It did.
To be frank, I'd say my chances of alchoholism were just about 25% those of, say, Helen [Frecht?] and my esteemed mother! On searching diligently through my past, I came upon a glass of port at Stratford a week ago today and a swallow of rum from Helen's birthday bottle a week ago Saturday.
It all goes to show how a person can write letters often and still fail to give any sort of picture of events. I'm sure I have a tendency to write about the unusual, the pleasures, the holidays and to skip over the stuff of which my days -- many of them fourteen or fifteen hour days -- are made. I suppose it is the beginning of the reluctance I've noticed in people when it comes to talking about the real things.

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Yes, dried apricots would be very nice to send me. No chocolate though, as we're well stocked. August 9, 1944 Dear Mother, I've had two letters in the last few days, number eleven and twelve. The first one made me laugh when I first read it and then it made me angry when I got to thinking about it. So I waited to write until I got the next and hoped it would mollify me. It did. To be frank, I'd say my chances of alchoholism were just about 25% those of, say, Helen [Frecht?] and my esteemed mother! On searching diligently through my past, I came upon a glass of port at Stratford a week ago today and a swallow of rum from Helen's birthday bottle a week ago Saturday. It all goes to show how a person can write letters often and still fail to give any sort of picture of events. I'm sure I have a tendency to write about the unusual, the pleasures, the holidays and to skip over the stuff of which my days -- many of them fourteen or fifteen hour days -- are made. I suppose it is the beginning of the reluctance I've noticed in people when it comes to talking about the real things.