DIY History | Transcribe | World War II Diaries and Letters | Helen Fox Angell letters to Bess Peebles Fox, July 1944-April 1945 | 1944-12-31 Helen Fox to Bess Peebles Fox Page 1

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

1944-12-31 Helen Fox to Bess Peebles Fox Page 1

December 31, 1944
Dear Mother,
Here it is, nine thirty on a New Years eve and I'm tucked up in bed like a good little girl instead of celebrating at the party.  That's not as sedate as it sounds, though, as I went to a rip-snorter of a party at an RAF base last night, returning home at about three this morning; and I feel, anything else would be an anti-climax, if not definitely disasterous.  About ten of us went, including Johnnie.  I've never seen such an abundance of food and drink, especially drink.  Our hosts looked quietly pained if they found us empty-handed.  At the risk of worrying you, I found that fifteen gins had been consumed by the time we came home.  All with no ill effects, may I hasten to add.  The fellows were charming - mostly New Zealanders and English.  They bristled with DFC's and DFM's, but were characteristically reluctant to talk about their own ribbons.  The dancing was very vivacious; I haven't had so much exercise since I put up the bicycle.  They also engaged in numerous swoops to bump each other into the orchestra.  The canapés and geletines and cold chicken were swell.  Everyone was very sociable and entertaining.  They are very good at amusing stories and at kidding each other.  A toast I hadn't heard before seemed quite in vogue, "Here's looking up your kilt!"  They swore it was genuine Scotch, but I hae me doots.
Your letters sixty one, sixty two and the over-eager sixty six arrived.  Also package twenty three (?), the one with the lovely fruit cake in it.  We haven't unwrapped it but it squeezes deliviously and isn't dry or mouldy.  The eats are very nice, and

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December 31, 1944 Dear Mother, Here it is, nine thirty on a New Years eve and I'm tucked up in bed like a good little girl instead of celebrating at the party. That's not as sedate as it sounds, though, as I went to a rip-snorter of a party at an RAF base last night, returning home at about three this morning; and I feel, anything else would be an anti-climax, if not definitely disasterous. About ten of us went, including Johnnie. I've never seen such an abundance of food and drink, especially drink. Our hosts looked quietly pained if they found us empty-handed. At the risk of worrying you, I found that fifteen gins had been consumed by the time we came home. All with no ill effects, may I hasten to add. The fellows were charming - mostly New Zealanders and English. They bristled with DFC's and DFM's, but were characteristically reluctant to talk about their own ribbons. The dancing was very vivacious; I haven't had so much exercise since I put up the bicycle. They also engaged in numerous swoops to bump each other into the orchestra. The canapés and geletines and cold chicken were swell. Everyone was very sociable and entertaining. They are very good at amusing stories and at kidding each other. A toast I hadn't heard before seemed quite in vogue, "Here's looking up your kilt!" They swore it was genuine Scotch, but I hae me doots. Your letters sixty one, sixty two and the over-eager sixty six arrived. Also package twenty three (?), the one with the lovely fruit cake in it. We haven't unwrapped it but it squeezes deliviously and isn't dry or mouldy. The eats are very nice, and