These love letters, written by my parents, Gwynne and Winnie, to each other during the days around the outbreak of the Second World War, paint a vivid picture of the hope and despair of so many people at the time, as Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain made his fateful declaration on September 3, 1939.

Although just a fragment of the daily correspondence that my parents conducted over nearly 20 years, what shines through them is two people’s love for each other, a love that would blossom in wartime, despite periods of separation and hardship, and find its fulfilment in marriage in 1942 and a settled family life in the early 1950s in the suburbs of northwest London.

These letters are some of thousands that they wrote to each other and that I still have, preserved in an old suitcase and some cardboard boxes that my brother and I found in the loft of the family home in 1987, after they had both died .

However little I can understand of what it was like to live through those years, those precious bundles preserve something of the feel of what ordinary people experienced as Britain became, for a while, the shock absorber of the world.

Times Archive, 1939: Britain at war with Germany

It is notified that a state of war exists between His Majesty and Germany as from 11 o'clock AM today

• Archive topic: Britain declares war on Germany

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• Archive blog: The most unforgettable day - where were your parents when war arrived?

Oxford, Friday, September 1, 1939

My darling Gwynne,

Isn’t it ghastly that we have really come to this. I cannot realise it now but it is dreadful and we just cannot imagine what it is going to be like .

Today I feel I haven’t been able to settle to anything.

We haven’t finished making our [blackout] curtains yet, so I ought to be doing that but I feel I must listen to the news to see if there are any announcements of importance, and it takes so long to hear all the news.

There isn’t anything else to say, darling; everything today seems to turn on this war business.

Let’s hope and pray this will get over soon. It’s a damnable state of affairs.

All my love. Yours, Winnie.

Bournemouth, Friday, September 1, 1939

Winnie Dearest,

We’ve all got heavy hearts today. I see from a midday paper that Germany has started to bomb Polish towns, and I imagine that when Parliament meets this evening we will decide to take the plunge.

What a filthy, beastly mess it all is. It’s too much to hope now that any miracle can happen to save peace — we humans have sowed the harvest that we must now reap.

Try not to worry overmuch, sweetheart. Oh, I know how easy it is to say that. We all will be bound to worry — it’s unavoidable. But we have to keep going too, and it will take all our hidden reserves of courage to do that.

But we will keep going, darling, you and I, for our love for each other will give us courage. We don’t know what’s likely to happen — but we do know how truly we are one, joined by a love that won’t be quenched. So, my darling, be brave.

Your own Gwynne.

Oxford, Saturday, September 2, 1939

My darling Gwynne,

How this awful catastrophe is altering people’s lives. I’ve felt like weeping all day. What it is all going to be like I cannot imagine and I have yet to realise why we must suffer this agony. At the same time I can see no way out. I wish that a miracle would happen and save the world.

But I fear we simply wait for Chamberlain to announce this evening that no reply has been received, so then we are at war — and to think that Germany can say that she does not regard a state of war to exist with Poland. It is terrible.

All my love, Winnie.

Sunday, September 3, 1939

Darling Angel,

So it has come. I have just listened to the Prime Minister and we have been at war with Germany since 11 o’clock this morning. What is to be said now, darling? Nothing, except that, though the world tumbles about our ears, I love you and shall go on loving you whatever may happen to us. A thing like this makes one feel very lonely, and I would give anything for your presence with me now. One kiss would, I think, help to reassure me that there are some lovely things left in the world, that there is some good besides the monstrous evil into which we are plunging. I think that perhaps we young people can stand times like these, but our fathers and mothers are less able to stand a long strain — twice in one lifetime. I hope they’ll be given strength to bear it.

With all my love, Gwynne.

Oxford, Monday, September 4, 1939 My Darling, This business is really terrible. I feel as though there is nothing to look forward to, because one can only live from day to day. Perhaps we shall become more reconciled or grow more philosophical later. Thank heaven your love is there — something permanent.

I heard Chamberlain’s speech recorded. Mamma and I listened to the King and later to [Arthur] Greenwood [the deputy leader of the Labour Party] and [Sir Archibald] Sinclair [the Liberal leader]. I am afraid they all made us weep and I’m sure we wouldn’t be the only ones. It seems wicked that this should have to be — and now the sinking of this liner is terrible. [The passenger liner Athenia was torpedoed by a U-boat with the loss of 112 lives on September 3.] I wish the USA would come in — we might then bring it to a speedy conclusion. As it is, who knows how long we shall have to fight to a successful end — and we must make it that. I think of you a lot, my love, and hope that we may all live to see the day when we can be together again and contemplate the future happily and hopefully. Goodnight.

Your own Winnie.

Ipswich, Wednesday September 6, 1939

My darling one,

We have had our first experience of an air raid warning — at 6.45 this morning. It makes one dither all over ... I put my dress on over pyjamas then a dressing gown and coat. Margaret got her baby wrapped up in rug and blankets. We all put our coats on and made off quickly for the shelter. It is a basement shelter built with the house and they have really made it very comfortable, complete with a bed, and we are beginning to see already what a boon that may be. We heard three lots of planes go over (silence in between) and no bombs or firing.

The all clear went about 9.10am. It had seemed a very long time. Whether it was a genuine air raid, or friendly planes that they couldn’t identify because of the fog, I do not know. It was not exactly a pleasant experience, but I am almost glad to have got over the first shock. I am trying now very hard to get on with things and not think that everything hoped for has gone. We’ve still got each other, darling, but one simply dare not think of any future. Keep well, dear, and take care.

Ever your own, Winnie.

Bebington, Cheshire, September 8, 1939

Darling,

I hated reading that you were warned of an air raid on Wednesday morning. But as you say it is good to get the first one over and in time we will get quite used to them. But what our nerves will be like when it is over, I don’t know. We jazzed after the last war. I wonder if we‘ll go completely barmy after this?

But, darling, I don’t agree with one thing you say in your letter. You say we’ve got each other; and with that I heartily agree. But then you go on to say that “one simply dare not think of any future”. Surely the one thing to keep us going through this horror is the thought of a happier future? For millions, its true, there will be no future, but we’ve just got to cling, however desperately, to the hope that for us a happier time lies ahead. If I couldn’t think that, I’d get rolling drunk every night. No, darling, whatever the end of this may be, I’m going to stick like glue to the hope that we will find happiness yet. I know there’s no certainty, but no one can take our private dreams from us.

Darling, I love you — and curse this bloody war that’s going to take so much that is fine and decent out of the world. But it will never destroy my love for you — our love for each other, and for that I feel like singing the Te Deum.

Your own Gwynne.

The Ven David Meara is Archdeacon of London and Rector of St Bride’s, London

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