Dear Aunt Peggy,

I’m sorry I haven’t written much before, but I’ve been very busy settling in and getting used to a large, busy London hospital again. I’m back at St George’s where I did my training, and working in theatre. The surgeons can be quite rude and very brusque at times, but the work is fascinating and I’m learning a lot as well as making new friends among the other nurses. None of us know what changes there will be, and how they will affect us if Labour gets in, but it’s clear to us all that if they do, this promised National Health Service will be a godsend – especially for those poor, desperate people living in the devastation of what remains of the East End. The damage up here is quite appalling and serves to remind us both how lucky we were to spend the war years in lovely Cliffehaven.

Robert has settled into his new posting, and leaves every morning in his three-piece suit and bowler hat, carrying his briefcase and rolled-up umbrella, for all the world looking like a real London gent, which makes me giggle a bit, because he isn’t at all pompous or grand like so many of the others he’s working with. I have no idea what he’s doing in that office, but he seems excited about it, and that’s all that really matters.

We’ve joined an orchestra, which practises every Wednesday night in the rehearsal rooms of the Palace Theatre, and although we can’t always make it because of our work commitments, we’re finding it wonderfully relaxing to be playing again, and I can’t thank Doris enough for letting me keep the violin.

The flat is very grand and furnished in the style of how I imagine a terribly smart and expensive hotel would be. There are two large bedrooms, a drawing room, dining room and even a small book-lined office, which Robert has taken over. There’s a lovely balcony which catches the evening sun, and we’ve taken to sitting out there to watch the world go by.

It’s far too big for us, but being in the heart of the city, it’s convenient for getting about easily, and I’m slowly learning which tube or bus to take, for it’s all very different to my student days.

We have started looking for a place of our own, but the rents are extortionate and there’s not much choice to be had, so we’ll probably stay here for a while until we find the right place. Neither of us wants a long commute every day, but it looks as if we’ll have to spread our search further afield to one of the London suburbs, and rely on the trains. The damage up here is awful to see, and my heart goes out to the poor people who have no choice but to camp out in the ruins, so I feel very guilty about rattling around in this palatial flat which could house an entire family, if not two.

I expect you’ve heard from Cissy, but I thought you’d like to know that I bumped into her the other day. She looked very glamorous in the skirt suit and little hat that is the company livery, and was positively buzzing about her partnership in the business and all the fun she’s having mixing with the London society set. She told me she’s still living with her friend in Mayfair until she finds somewhere else, and has certainly adopted the glossy look of a very well-to-do young woman about town. I felt quite dull beside her in my nurse’s uniform, but then she always did have the knack of looking good in anything she wore.

As you warned me, our trip to Ireland was not a success. All doors were closed to us and my family refused to even hold a telephone conversation with me. The local priest was hostile, and even the shopkeeper I’ve known all my life refused to serve me. The whole thing was horribly dispiriting, especially when my mother ripped up the letter I put through her door, and scattered the pieces very deliberately into the gutter before slamming the door in my face. We didn’t stay after that, and the next day we were on the ship to Liverpool. I can’t pretend that I wasn’t heartbroken, but I’ve vowed not to look back and to concentrate only on my new life with Robert, for I have far more important things to occupy me now.

Our baby is due at the end of December, so I’ll have to give up work at the end of the summer – but I’ve been told on good authority that I’d be welcomed back should I wish to return in the New Year. It’s certainly something I will consider as long as I can arrange suitable nursery care.

Robert’s lovely mother has got so excited at the news she’s begun to bombard us with the most exquisite layette, and a positive zoo of cuddly toys. I do believe she’s raided Harrods as well as Hamleys and must have left their shelves bare!

I hope all is well with everyone at Beach View. Cissy told me you’ve been attending quite a lot of weddings lately, and that Ruby had finally married her Mike and set off for Canada. I suspect Ivy’s now married Andy, and hope Rita and Peter have come to an agreement over where they’ll live once they’ve tied the knot. Beach View must feel very empty now with so many of us gone, and I’ve kept a close eye on the news in the hope that Jim will soon be coming home. I expect Anne and the children are with you now, so they must be a comfort to you, and I very much hope that Martin and all the other fliers made it home in one piece.

I’ll finish now, for it’s late and I’m tired after a long day in theatre. Please pass on my very best wishes to Sarah, and tell her I’m keeping my fingers crossed that good news is waiting for her once the Japs surrender.

Do write to me with all your news, Auntie Peg, because I miss you and Ron and Cordelia so very much, and want to stay in touch. I promise to be a more regular correspondent from now on, as I’ll soon have plenty of time to write while I wait for the arrival of this baby.

With lots of love,

Fran xxx.

PS Please pass on my congratulations to Doris. I met her son and Suzie at a government function the other day, and they’re expecting a brother or sister for little Teddy! Suzie looks marvellously well, and it was quite like old times to be able to chatter away with her while the men pontificated over their port and cigars. But more of that in my next letter. X