Narooma area local Adrian John Willis was going through his family memorabilia recently when he unearthed a touching and romantic wartime letter written by his father to his mother.
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He thought he would make it public in the spirit of Anzac Day to remind everyone of the wartime sacrifices that couples and families made all those years ago and continue to make in current conflicts.
The letter was written by his father Leut. John Willis RNVR who was sent out to Sydney from England to start The Pacific Post newspaper for the British Pacific Fleet.
“My father was initially posted on a minesweeper in the North Atlantic but once that duty was fulfilled he was sent out to the Pacific theatre to start the newspaper because of his journalistic background,” Mr Willis said.
Leut. Willis wrote the letter on Tuesday, May 8, 1945 at 0855 to his wife who was back in England with their children. In the letter he hints that Prime Minister Winston Churchill was about to announce the end of the European conflict and how he wishes he was back in her arms.
His wish was eventually fulfilled as after the war, they both moved out to Australia where their family grew and John Willis went on to have an extensive career in newspapers. Here is John’s letter to Irene:
Hello Sweetheart,
Although you are blissfully unaware of it at this moment, at 1500 DBST this afternoon (2300 Sydney time), you will be listening to Churchill announcing the end of the European war. So this seems to be as good a time as any to tell you one or two things that I would have like to have said with you in my arms.
You know my darling apart from all other considerations, I am immensely proud of the way my wife has faced up to this war. The memory of you bending over the kiddies as a bomb screamed down, of your smiles as you swept up the plaster from the ceilings and the glass from the windows… These will endure with me to the end.
Your courage made things a lot easier for me – and saved the kids from the mental scars of war. I would not have blamed you had your nerves failed you. I would have kept silent. But because yours was the cool, light hearted (even though a forced light heartedness) courage of so many women in the dark days, I pay you tribute. My darling, not your husband, but an officer of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, I salute you.
Today I find myself with very mixed feelings – a sense of deep satisfaction in victory then thoughts of good lives lost (David and Wendy and Ted and so many, many others), it’s with finely selfish reflection that there is still a Pacific war to be won before we take up the threads of our own lives again.
But first and foremost (and without Kiplingesque Jingoism) I feel a great sense of racial pride. Looking back stage by stage to September of 1939, I find myself unashamedly proud to be British.
At eleven o’clock tonight, my love, I shall raise a glass and murmur your name and the kids. God bless you darling and keep you safe.
John