1021 DOCKS OPERATING COY., R.E. C.M.F.

Dearest Heart,

I have three, THREE letters to answer, and to read and re-read, the letter of 1/1, 3/1 and the second of 3/1.   The first two tell of your influenza, you poor darling and me not there to fuss and worry and by the time you get this it will be, God grant, a thing of the past.   You are a bit better in the last letter, when Fitz comes and says such splendidly nice things about our child, and when your temperature graph is a nice even 100-99 chevron pattern.   I do hope the rest has done you good, that there were no relapses or little lapses (when we have daughters we’ll have little lapses, for little dogs to sit in) and that you will go easily afterwards and not have got up too early and too soon.   I love the idea of Dick Turpin feeding my son au naturelle. And the drawing on the last letter was magnificent, it has a Leonardo quality, a boldness of line and a vigour and confidence which is startling and the result is adorable.   It beggars all descriptions, so that is the lad. A bonny one and no mistake,   But to the letters- my news is humdrum, health good, wealth the same, duty and free time, and the good companionship of the other stepsons of the new O.C. –   But your letters. The first touched on other New Years days, and the ships answering, they did this year and all my sensitive Italian soldiers fled to shelter thinking it was an air raid – the flu, reading a book, and its good to be absorbed in even novels not written by your husband.   I do. The Bone problem, and the Solution, quite charming,   the next Letter much, but never too much, Dickie news, you and your feeling of adulthood and level headedness and calmth and efficiency, and todays letter tells of Dickie in his kicking postures, the wireless which works, good,   Fitz and Dickie, the articles, which I will check up, half a minute…you have still to have,   Concert In Naples, Fraternisation, The Sculptor and Desert Chicken it seems, and the C.H. version of Bertha’s last play.  Yes, the C.O.’s O.K. covers the BBC. I can’t see that they’ll like it in C.H. but Talks might, and several of the word pictures, might ask them, Director of Talks. Sort of little postscripts.    But I don’t know.

So glad the Miranda’s Dream has come I wondered about that it went the same time as the docs, it seemed rather a nice thing, its from Sorrento, of course, where its a local craft has been for years, olive wood I fancy.   Now you need jewels to put in it.   Most of the parcels from the other side have arrived now it seems.   Good, things for you give me great pleasure but what I want is some small yet exquisite thing, some highly cherishable thing of rare beauty for you and some day I’ll find it. You’ve got Dickie in that line of course.

Letter from Jack today and from Grannie Rose and an airgraph from nice D Sadgrove.   Yes I’ll write to Marjorie about Christopher, or think the best way.   A letter from me to the Head would do it.   I don’t know if our house is still running.   I think there’s one house.   I’d like to go down and see the place first, but that’s not possible.   I’ll think it over, nothing can be too much for my good friend Christopher. I hope Richard John will be as kind to me and as confident in me.  He may know me too well. I’d soon coach old Chris up a bit.   But character is the thing, and he has the foundations of that and the instincts of gentleness.

Allan is waiting to study Italian with me.    We got to the Subjunctive, imperative and Conditional this afternoon, after the dock. Oh, tomorrow we discharge a ship of Mules! Yeo-heave-ho.

I want to write a play, please.

Its all a little odd and forced here just now and this evening the O.C. went out and Allan went mad and we all went mad and threw nuts all over the floor, upset all the furniture, dressed up and Allan and I did the front and back legs of a cow, and Peter was the Toreador and Jack the Matador.   Very daft and nice.  We’ve cleaned up and settled down. We relaxed.      Lovely weather just now, fine handsome dawns, spreading exciting sunsets, silver moonlight nights and sunny warm days.   The weather is fickle here, when its good in the winter its very good.   Oh, we are trying out an Italian cook In the Mess, so far so very good.   The Batmen are very suspicious and uneasy and a bit jealous, they’ll be all right. Washbrooke is loyal and fussy and thoughtful as ever, a dear boy.

I wonder how the Christening went off.

I do wish I knew, as I expect, that now you are up and about and better. I would like to be there to fuss round you. And I’d love to observe the antics of His Highness and to observe the wonder of his growing and unfolding perception.   Does he actively know things now, like Candy and visitors, Mrs. Anderton and Julian?   And there is much corn on the side of the quay, if only the girls could be there I thought of them this afternoon, scooping up the good corn.   Lockley has just brought me in my coffee its a quarter to nine.   Not on till three tomorrow, I’ll write again I hope.   Unless I get some administrative work to do with the section. You never know.

I’ll be good and not spend any more money, unless its for something I can’t help buying.   Then the account will grow.   I can only draw half my pay every month anyhow, so its not so bad.   I hope some of the MSS sell, don’t fret if they don’t they were fun to do. I’ll make you enough for a simple happy home afterwards, never fear, for you and your son, my son, our son Richard.   I am getting fond of that lad.   And I am always thinking of and being fond of you.   Bless you dearest heart. . . ever your. . .