1021  Docks  Operating  Coy.,  R.E.  C.M.F.

Dearest,
Three air mails from you and two letters,  one letter yesterday dated August 12th and the other today of the 16th., grand newsy happy and very fragrant letters and the three air mails, two last night and one this evening, of the 26th. 30th September and 6th. October.    All read avidly and greedily and with chuckles.    There’s a lot to answer because I want to take up everything you say and agree.   About this Richard, it seems he’s a goodly person, and you wonder if I find details of his life trivial.    The answer is indeed No and again No.    The more I have the better I like it.   You were worried in one of the air mails about where we had been, your supposition was pretty accurate, but “the other campaign” I referred to was your own, in Rosemary Cottage.

Its grand that Fitz is such a brick, and is a very good friend to you and to us.    I did write this week but I fear me in manuscript. I’ll type the next one and send him some small present, one of the special wooden inlay things they make here, cigarette box.   He must love you, anyone who gets to know you does. As for Leonards witty airgraph, I liked it and didn’t mind a bit, we do need small parts for guns and the guns of the Navy are things I shall always gratefully respect, like Spitfires and steel helmets.    And Eric will have his busy days, maybe while I am safe in Europe.  Now our  job is very base and calm and Blackout is ignored and we have the dock, like tonight, I’m working ashore this evening over twenty four sappers and two hundred Italians, and we have great arc lights everywhere which just shows,  quite a long way to – little joke – bless you.

Peter is in dock with mild Jaundice, but don’t tell May who doesn’t know.    He is quite well really, just yellow.   The little suit we bought for Roger is for Dickie when Roger grows out of it.  Peter says so.    I parceled it and posted it today.   Also not very clever shoes for you and silly ones for Dickie but not to be worn as the nails might come through and there’s no give in the soles I bought them because I liked the look of them.-  The shops here have only a few nice things.    But I went ten miles away yesterday where there were grand shops, and I couldn’t stop, being on duty. I saw a Corso Marion Crawford, and many magnificent well groomed spotlessly white villas belonging to English milords, grand places. Also a fine vista of cliffs and sweeping bay, white hotels and broad pleasure gardens, a little town for yachts and millionaires untouched by the war which has by-passed it beyond its ring of mountains.    I must go some day when I can spare a few hours, but time free is hard to find.

Afterwards my Italian friend, who lives in Egypt, and is desperately pro-British, the brother in law of Sir Geoffrey Hall of the Cairo Times and most helpful,  guided me in the Jeep up a tortuous mountain path only a Jeep could climb and at last to a typical Italian farm of the better kind.  I was the first British to be seen there, Germans were the last, all the village turned out and gesticulated around the Jeep.  Inside the large room of the farm with a huge table and vast side board and two very large double beds I met the vast lady of the house, in black, with thick ankles and typically pregnant and wheezy in her excited friendliness, several other women, similar, an angel boy of twelve named Raphael, delicate of feature and large of eyes whose soul I bought with a piece of Chocolata and an English sixpence, several other children and two men. They gave me special wine, six rabbits for the mess because I admired their rabbits, and a feast of green figs stuffed with walnuts, breadfruit pickled in vinegar, anchovies in olive oil.   From   him I bought two pointed barrels of wine, one red one white, their own make, at 10 lire a litre, 88 litres in all, 6d. a bottle in short.

Cigarettes all round, an invitation to stay a weekend,    shaking of hand, laughing and with the two casks in the Jeep I departed, down the stony German-tank scarred road to the road round the bay and home. The house smelt of Garlic but equally of kindness and Farmers plenty, their mongrel cracked walnuts himself for himself.

Too much talk about me, not enough about us.    Tonight I shall keep the 1030 commune with you this evening, I do when I’m up but usually we bed down at ten or before, as we are up at four for ship working, and on beaches we bed down at dark, soon after seven, and I sleep, but with you. I’m here till six in the morning tonight, if you see what I mean and the British Army reverts solemnly to Battle Dress tomorrow, bless us. It’s B.D. weather anyhow.

Jack is admin, now as its all straightforward, and I am sectioning, but have the quay to run for a day or two because of the Italian labour and the new idea of running that.    Its fascinating, a bit like Accra, I am experienced at last.

I feel this is a little improper but I want to go on.    I’ve only one more for Mother or I’d send another, perhaps I’ll send an ordinary letter as well, or an airgraph, that’s an idea, no I haven’t got any here in the Dock office.

Your letters are blessed, and the growing knowledge of my son is a happiness I cannot describe.

Your news, and Mothers of Uncle Fred came yesterday, I can’t get used to it. He was a truly good man, kind and Christian and was so fond of me, beyond my deserts.    I wrote to Auntie last night and shall again.    It must leave her so empty.
God bless you all,
ever…