Letters between Malcolm William Keshan and Dorothy Williams, 1941 - Part 10

(Contd. from Page 5)
you can. My eyelids are falling, try as I may to keep them open.
Everyone wishes to be remembered to you, & hopes you are in the 
best of health etc. And what is there left for me to say that I
haven't said before? Eighteen months oh heavens – eighteen years.
I had an awful dream last night darl. Apparently you were
coming home & I had spent about a month getting a gorgeous outfit
ready, in which I intended meeting you. The day dawned & I
looked out of the window only to find it was raining.
I thought to myself 'Raining huh' Oh well I'll just wear
my old dress & put my coat over it', and it wasn't until
I was in the train before I realised that it was the day
you were coming home. I was frantic I  can tell you.
All of which just goes to show that dreams are crazy. As
if I would forget what day you were coming home. As if I
could. The trouble is, I shall probably be racing
along a street, with my hair flying, & then I'll bump
into you unexpectedly. I may only say "Hullo Mac" but
I'll be feeling strange inside of me, & you'll understand
won't you?
This week's letter is just drawing to a close. Take care of
yourself sweet. Let's hear from you soon, if you can make
it, and once again the biggest of cheerio's to you and –
Lots of Love.
Always Sincerely
Dorothy
xxxx
xxxx
xxx
 

SYDNEY
N.S.W.AUST
AIR MAIL
SECTION
G.P.O

No. NX11067
Sgt Keshan, M. W.,
7-4-41
“A”. Coy,  Bn,
A.I. F.

Return to Sender on Military Board Instructions
For [[Oi/o?]] District Records Office
Abroad

Not with 2/4 BN.
12/7/41 [[?89]]
 

F.P.O.
12.JL.41.9-10[[A]]
E.611

NOT OPENED BY CENSOR
2

37 Byrnes Street
Bexley
Saturday afternoon
(26th April 1941)

Dear Mac,
Here I am – late again with my letter, and just as
I was beginning to think I was improving. But there was
a reason this letter darl (I said reason not excuse.) If I don't
have a few hours to spend on your letters, they hardly
even reach the seven page mark, which (you agree) is not
a fair thing. So I said to myself – this time I'll save it
until Saturday, and make it a decent length. All of
which, isn't getting us anywhere, but I hope you're not
too cranky, & above all, hope you've not been kept
waiting too long.
How are you sweet – who do you love? (That's B's
& my latest greeting for one another – hiya 'who do
you love? It's a trump isn't it?) The army is treating
you very well I trust; tell me Mac, are you wearing
your stripes again. I get very annoyed when I think of
how they tried to rob you. The hounds! Perhaps in
your next letter, I'll hear more about it. I still haven't–
received  a letter from you, by the way. Either you are
away from any mailing depot, or something else is 
holding it up. However, Monday's mail may have
something for me, & I'm living in hope.
It was Anzac Day yesterday, which meant of course

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a public holiday for us – which noone minded in the
least. Golly Mac I missed you yesterday – horribly. 
I kept on thinking – now if only Mac were here, he'd know
what I mean or he'd laugh at that, or he'd tell me if 
that were right. But my poor old hoper just had to 
hope along & nothing came of it. I didn't suddenly look 
up & see you standing there –  with that look in your eyes, 
which always made me feel that you were thinking out 
some new way to tease me. Miracles just don't happen 
like that Not once, but often I've dreamed of that happening
but then when one dreams, one must always 
awaken. So at the end of the day, I think to myself as I 
lie in bed & look at my best pal – one day nearer to the 
end of this ghastly mess. (But you thought I was looking at 
you when I referred to "my best pal."  Wrong! This time 
I meant the light outside our place. That's my best 
pal – friend in need sort of thing.) I started off talking 
about public holidays & now the subject is onto electric 
street lights. I can see myself how I roam around. I'm 
staying this week-end at my auntie's place, on Carlton 
Parade – (about five minutes walk from the station) as 
Mum & Dad are away at Bowral for the three days. (I 
know – and you're miles away – too bad isn't it sweet?) 
One of my married cousins has a girl friend "flatting" 
at King's Cross, so we went into town to see the Anzac 
March & then went on to Ed's place for lunch. 
It was a very sad Anzac Day darl – they all are 

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really, only yesterday was more so. Earlier this week, 
some of the men who were invalided home, arrived in 
Sydney – Wednesday it was. And seeing those men, old Anzacs 
marching – old most of them – but every one of them 
erect – with chin up, it made me think of – oh lots 
of things & you mainly, and the poor Anzacs of 
this war, fighting desperately in Greece. Things aren't 
so good Mac, are they? Although there is something 
in what Churchill says, the war won't be won by one 
naval victory or by the capture of one city. Judging 
by events lately, it will be every part of your eighteen 
months before it's over – and by that time I will be 
old and wrinkled. And then what will you say? Perhaps 
you'll be old & wrinkled yourself though. Then everything 
will be fine. Tell you what Mac! If I have to cold cream 
my face to keep wrinkles at bay, it's only fair that you 
should too. So getagoing! 
Where was I – heavens I must tangle you up. I get lost 
myself. After the march, as I said before, we went to 
lunch at King's Cross. I think it's the third time I 
have even seen the place – you wouldn't believe it 
would you – but it's a fact. And even then I have 
only once before alighted from the tram – when we went 
to the Minerva it was. It's the most fascinating place 
don't you think Mac? There are such strange people, 
strange clothes, and the whole day could be spent 
wandering around the place. Some of the chaps 

4
looked as though any moment they would cut your throat. 
But they were all older than I was Mac. Olga had her 
husband – my cousin – with her & Ed's sister, had her 
boyfriend up, and they all drank & smoked while 
I sipped water, so to speak. Don't go thinking we had 
a wild party or anything like that – 'cause we 
didn't, honestly. No one  went "under", but boy they 
drained the bottles that afternoon. I sat & laughed at 
the funny things they were saying – not stupid – 
but they had a "glow" and became rather witty. 
It was a good day, on the whole Mac, only a waste 
of a holiday really. I could have thought of much 
better ways of filling in a holiday. (P.S. I still dislike 
beer & smoke makes me choke. That wasn't the right 
thing to say there. Straight away you'll think 
I've been on the spice (S'mad!) but truly sweet. I 
can't go for that stuff. It's a gorgeous colour though.)
Mac sweet, guess where I've been? [[Do?]] quite a bit 
of gadding around since I wrote you last. My 
cousin Glen was down from the Valley last 
weekend & he & I went to the Tivoli. I have never been 
there before (I don't get around much –  I know.) Golly 
I laughed Mac. There weren't many jokes that went over 
my head. A few times I heard some people laughing away 
and try as I may, I just couldn't see anything funny in 
what he said. One or two came to me suddenly the next 
morning at home, so I didn't do too badly. But note

5
well. That's one place we don't go to. It's definitely suitable 
for brother & sister or cousins. I'd get used to it after 
a while I guess, but whew, they don't mince words any. 
Heavens how/we laughed at that silly George Wallace. 
There was something in particular that I wanted to 
tell you about but I can't think of – wait a sec' 
I know. Cast your mind (apology for one I meant) 
back a few years, to the last night we went to the 
Regent theatre. Remember? There was a girl – Jenny 
Howard – singing on the stage. Right? She sang two 
songs, – "Oh Johnny" & "'Til the Lights of London Shine 
Again", (and I remember your saying you bet I 
could [[swing?]] "Oh Johnny") but anyway she was 
co-starring at the Tivoli the night we went. Her main 
song was "The Last Time I Saw Paris" – do you know 
it sweet? "The Last Time I saw Paris, her heart was 
young and Gay." It's a lovely number & as she 
was singing it the curtain swung open revealing a dark 
stage, blackened out, excepting for a shaft of light 
which fell across the body of a French soldier, lying 
at the foot of an empty flagpole. (The song, incidentally 
was dedicated to the Free French soldiers.) As she finished 
her song, the orchestra broke into the Marseillaise (In 
case you can't understand broken English – that means 
the French National Anthem.) As if hearing the music, the 
French flag began to slowly ascend the pole, awakened 
the soldier as it did. He slowly stands up, stands to

6
attention & salutes. Reading it, its hard visualise it I 
know, but it was indescribable anyway. You would 
have to see it. 
This letter isn't as simply done as I thought it would be. 
I've been at it for hours now. You see it's like this 
Mac. Everyone down here is baking. Gee it's a 
wowful business. A minute ago I was mixing butter 
& sugar to-gether "for to make" "Gem Scones." We
don't know the antidote, so pity help us when 
tea time comes. Tell you what I'll do – I'll eat a couple 
for you, shall I. Or maybe you'd rather not eh? 
Hang on for a few minutes will you pal, while I 
phone Betty & see what she's doing to-night. I'd like to 
go to a show. Let's see what her ladyship wants. 
There I am back again & yes, Betty is coming to the 
Carlton theatre with me to see "Northwest Passage." 
She said to give you her love, but I objected, so she's 
changed it to Kind Regards. I objected. 
(Bess tells me the Scones are coming on well. Won't 
be long now. Everyone else in the house is sound 
asleep, except we cooks. I'm getting very domesticated 
sweet. I might meet you at the wharf with a batch 
of scones. There I go again, when I meet you at the wharf.  
Better skip that subject, yes? 
Dear Mac, what can we talk about. I just have 
to make Page 7. George tells me our team lost at tennis 
to-day – by five games. Wouldn't it! It would won't be 

7
long now. There. We've made Page 7. I'm contented. 
Old Mother Nature is playing tricks with the weather 
lately. Here it is, almost the end of April and Summer 
hasn't yet left dear old Sydney. Most likely we'll 
wake up one morning and find ourselves frost bitten, & 
then everyone will say "Winters Come!" I wish I were 
with you, just about to have Summer. I'm dreading 
the cold weather Mac. What was it I had to do 
about my chillblains? You tell me 'cause I don't know. 
They want to set the table now, so I'll have to 
run along now Mac. 
Take good care of yourself. Best wishes from all 
at home and of course Tons of Love from Yours 
Truly. 
I almost forgot to tell you to behave but you'd 
know even if I didn't say so, I'd think it. 
Bye for the time dear.
Great Big Cheerio xxxx
Dorothy xxxx