They have gone, and of the seven dwarfs, but one remains, disconsolate, in his big Nisson Hut, alone and idle, – except for the counting, or supervison of the counting of twelve hundred and sixty six blankets in the morning. I hope to get away, with my ten satelites and my young and new sergeant tomorrow morning, about noon, but it seems that I may have to stay until Monday. A weekend quietly here with no duties would be very nice, and I could get some scripts done, but it would be rather a poor thing for the sappers who want to get home to their billets. It’s dreary here except for very magnificent scenary of which Sappers are not always appreciative, and which they have had only too much opportunity of seeing at all hours these past two weeks. However, we shall see.

                        The gloves are because if a gentleman kisses a lovely lady while she is asleep, no, if a lovely lady kisses a gentleman while he is asleep, he gives her a pair of gloves. You have the gloves in advance. They are Guernsey, or Shetland or Minorca wool or something like that. Mr. Macintyre had them for you.

                        Make you a costume with the tweed if it will stretch to it, of course, yes, but I fear me its only skirt length plus. Unless you do something to make it go further, or shorter or something.

                        Nice letter this morning, the last on(e?) to Auntie Ivy’s.

                       Nice story, from a very Irishman, about a clever dog a friend of his had. This dog had only one fault, he would sit in chairs. So one day the master came in, found dog in a  chair, and gave dog a belting. The next day as he came in the dog jumped out of the chair, so the master gave him another belting. The next day he came in the dog was on the hearth, but the master felt the cushion with his hand, found that it was warm, and gave the dog another belting. The next day he came in and found the dog with his front paws on the chair, blowing the cushion like hell,

                        I am writing with this post to your good mother, with a draft agreement.

                        There’s a dnace here this evening, but I think the battle of Hastings is better work. I may do Trafalgar as well. Have you been able to hunt out my past scripts on . . .
1.         Blenheim
2.         Trafalgar
3.         Any other Battles ?
What can I do with the stevedore article ? Oh dear.

                        All the fine birds are flown, and alone I sit in a vast nisson hut. I wish you could be here. But I think Embarkation Leave, a new batch for a new reason, is due at once, so standby for a seven days at home, and bless us all.

                        My love, and soon maybe we’ll be together.

All my thoughts, and may the gloves please you and be the right size.