1942 was a bad year. The war news remained grim. American and Commonwealth forces were in retreat. Singapore had surrendered to the Japanese in February, Rommel’s Africa Korps had captured Tobruk in North Africa, Leningrad was besieged by German forces and the Russian people were about to make their heroic stand to defend Stalingrad from another of Hitler’s armies.
Here in Derby in the family home things were equally grim and surrounded with uncertainty. There had been no letter from Uncle Roger since the long letter in mid January. Not that this stopped Nana sending letters to him.
As ever they were full of the personal and mundane.
There was concern about my mother, who was herself serving at RAF Swinderby in Lincolnshire,
“she had been in hospital with her eyes. One doctor said it was acute Glaucoma, necessitates operation etc. So I thought I’d better see for myself. Apparently she had a cold in time, pain to the point of vomiting, seems alright to me but will have to see another specialist the week”
And the usual news about how cold it had been, the visits from school friends and her new job in the accounts office at Hampshire’s. “By the way I am working ½ days ay Hampshire’s now in the office as long as it lasts” which it did and “became five mornings and two afternoons.” All of which presented its own problems including what to do with Willy the dog when she was out at work.
But sitting behind all the trivia was the constant nagging concern that there had been no news from her son. In her February letter she hoped the birthday greetings telegram had arrived and wondered out loud, “how do you feel having reached the first20, grown in health strength and wisdom?”
Like all parents she clung to what she had, re read his long letter and commented on the photos he had sent, wishing “that your photo would have been a little larger on top of that mast.”
With no letters and against worsening war news she continued to write about walks in the countryside, the health of my mother, and her own ill health which was played down. At times her frustration at the lack of letters spilled over into her writing. In August she wrote “everybody keeps asking about you, we all can’t understand your silence.” But communications were chaotic and a letter he had written to his Uncle Jack had taken three months to arrive.
So despite writing “to various people to see if they had any news of you I have had no reply.” All she could do was continue to send the air grams which allowed just a few short sentences. These remained full of family stuff; “we are all going black berrying tomorrow. They are just about ripe. We would have gone for crab apples, but we cannot find your spot at Breadsell.”
Ominously in the October the family received a letter from the Air Ministry to “say he had arrived at Sumatra, Java on February 18th 1942. Since then no use probably a prisoner of war of the Japanese”
It was another four months before Nana recorded in her diary “that lists of POWs were coming through slowly” and ”that Roger was 21 on the 11 of February.” Just two months later came the official news “that Roger is missing, his name might still be in some lists not received yet, he may be at large on one of the islands.”
On April 18th 1943 the Derby Telegraph printed his photo which accompanies this story and two days later Mrs Wright of Victory Road “came today to tell us that her son was in the same transport as R and he missing as well.”
The news was only going to get worse.
Picture; one of the letters sent by grandmother in the January of 1942, from the collection of Andrew Simpson
Here in Derby in the family home things were equally grim and surrounded with uncertainty. There had been no letter from Uncle Roger since the long letter in mid January. Not that this stopped Nana sending letters to him.
As ever they were full of the personal and mundane.
There was concern about my mother, who was herself serving at RAF Swinderby in Lincolnshire,
“she had been in hospital with her eyes. One doctor said it was acute Glaucoma, necessitates operation etc. So I thought I’d better see for myself. Apparently she had a cold in time, pain to the point of vomiting, seems alright to me but will have to see another specialist the week”
And the usual news about how cold it had been, the visits from school friends and her new job in the accounts office at Hampshire’s. “By the way I am working ½ days ay Hampshire’s now in the office as long as it lasts” which it did and “became five mornings and two afternoons.” All of which presented its own problems including what to do with Willy the dog when she was out at work.
But sitting behind all the trivia was the constant nagging concern that there had been no news from her son. In her February letter she hoped the birthday greetings telegram had arrived and wondered out loud, “how do you feel having reached the first20, grown in health strength and wisdom?”
Like all parents she clung to what she had, re read his long letter and commented on the photos he had sent, wishing “that your photo would have been a little larger on top of that mast.”
With no letters and against worsening war news she continued to write about walks in the countryside, the health of my mother, and her own ill health which was played down. At times her frustration at the lack of letters spilled over into her writing. In August she wrote “everybody keeps asking about you, we all can’t understand your silence.” But communications were chaotic and a letter he had written to his Uncle Jack had taken three months to arrive.
So despite writing “to various people to see if they had any news of you I have had no reply.” All she could do was continue to send the air grams which allowed just a few short sentences. These remained full of family stuff; “we are all going black berrying tomorrow. They are just about ripe. We would have gone for crab apples, but we cannot find your spot at Breadsell.”
Ominously in the October the family received a letter from the Air Ministry to “say he had arrived at Sumatra, Java on February 18th 1942. Since then no use probably a prisoner of war of the Japanese”
It was another four months before Nana recorded in her diary “that lists of POWs were coming through slowly” and ”that Roger was 21 on the 11 of February.” Just two months later came the official news “that Roger is missing, his name might still be in some lists not received yet, he may be at large on one of the islands.”
On April 18th 1943 the Derby Telegraph printed his photo which accompanies this story and two days later Mrs Wright of Victory Road “came today to tell us that her son was in the same transport as R and he missing as well.”
The news was only going to get worse.
Picture; one of the letters sent by grandmother in the January of 1942, from the collection of Andrew Simpson
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