The Legend of "Dear John"

This is not a war story, but a because of war story.

During WWII, just before the allies marched into Europe to free it from the Germans, allied masterminds poured their troops into Britain to share the offensive with its partners. This meant many British troops were shipped overseas to participate in battles elsewhere and make room in Old Blighty for all these newcomers from North America and European nations.

This decision affected me personally, as I soon found myself on a troop ship bound for Burma shortly after having joined the RAF and training as a Liberator rear gunner. What I didn't experience was the grief caused to many British soldiers, sailors and airman under the strain of leaving their sweethearts at home. Being a callow teenager, I was too young to have left anyone behind.

Letters were the only way a serviceman could communicate with his wife or girlfriend and these letters were a lifeline, helping to keep up morale. After all, they were risking life and limb and what kept them going was the expectation of being reunited with their true love.

Since this was long before the instant communication of email and cell phones, it was exciting to spot the mailman coming up the drive on his weekly visit. After what seemed an endless wait for written confirmation that their girls were keeping the home fires burning and anxiously awaiting their return, the letters were eagerly opened.

While I waited just as earnestly for news from home, letters I received from the female gender were from my mother and I felt secure in her affections. Not so the case for some husbands and boyfriends, who were rudely presented with precise proof that their love life had taken a direct hit when faced with a "Dear John" letter.

There were those forlorn souls who kept their broken hearts private and others who accepted the blow with good grace, but occasionally a lovelorn would be quick to express anger and even be bent on revenge.

These disappointed paramours would post the offending letter on our notice board for viewing by all who showed an interest. I'll admit to taking a look at these cruel missives penned from afar.

Most went along these lines -

"Dear John (Tom, Dick or Harry)

Sorry, but this will be my last letter. I have met a lovely chap here and we have really hit it off.  We plan to wed shortly. Do take care of yourself out there!

Yours truly,
Dolly (Molly or Polly)"

Seething wounded beaus would fire off insulting letters in return and encourage their friends to do the same. The mailman would stagger under the weight of much ill-feeling, heavily laden with disparaging letters authored by the abandoned wretches and their willing comrades.

I try not to judge their former girlfriends too harshly. It must have been difficult languishing back home for years awaiting the hopeful return of a faraway heartthrob and not knowing if the next falling doodlebug bomb might spell your own end.

On hand to lend comfort to these lonely lasses were the dashing replacements, outfitted in grand uniforms and with a steady supply of rationed cigarettes, chocolate and stockings to lift spirits. I've heard they were pretty good dancers, too. Yes, American and Canadian charmers, in particular, seemed very proficient at turning a young British girl's head.

At the time, attitudes were far less understanding of the female predicament and their sources of solace. In fact pent-up resentment from returning British troops resulted in more than a few bust-ups in local pubs before the newcomers shipped off to their homelands – some with British war brides in tow.

Then there were those unfortunate young women who had shed a British sweetheart, only to be abandoned in turn by a soldier anxious to return to his honey waiting for him back home. Even girls who were accused of merely flirting could suffer the stigma of being considered "used goods" and find themselves unwanted by their returning menfolk.

Naturally, this wasn't just a British phenomenon. This same scenario played out throughout Europe, with British troops wooing French, Italian and Greek girls away from their erstwhile sweethearts fighting in far-away places.

Mind you, in Burma we weren't allowed to fraternize with the native women (not that there were many available out in the jungle), although a fellow airman married an Indian girl and brought her to England. She seemed quite happy when I met up with them coming out of a cinema in the high street after war's end.

Yes, it was a cruel time when injuries could be sustained both to the heart and the body. But war is war and these things happen; people get over it and move on.  Somehow I doubt there are any octogenarians (and beyond) still holding a grudge over 70 years later. I certainly hope not, anyway!

Ed Pearson