Two letters from you, one sad, one brave again. Poor darling, of course I don’t mind, except to be sorry for your sake. But is it not that a child is a blessing, to be received and not obtained by will ? God-sent is surely the description of such an achievment. There is no blame, there can be no self-reproach. We are us; we did not command our love for each other, it came, it is there, a blessing from those sources which the most scientific and sceptical of us cannot deny. We have cared for that love, cherished it, but we did not command or order it. So with a child, which we both desire for the sake of the other, and for a claim on immortality. We cannot, we must not, dare to command it. Let us desire it, and leave the rest to the magic of life. If it comes we shall be the proudest parents, in Christendom, and Ismail too. If not, then we must not deplore our fate, it is somehow unmannerly of us, like being hurt because we don’t get a birthday present. But dearest do not think that you are at fault; maybe I am at fault, maybe the gift will come, and if so, we  can rejoice. As you say, for now, it is us, and for that blessing I shall never cease to be thankful. So take heart poor darling, how I would travel overnight twice for the sake of ten minutes with you. I’d cross the world for two minutes. Whatever I am, that I owe to you; you can never know how you have given me my manhood, given me my strength and that small grace which any healthy proud male must have.

                        I’ll see if I can get a call through to you. Back soon. Back, after fighting my way thirty yards from this office to the Orderly room through a hurricane alive with stinging rain. It bellows and billows and drives. I looked in our little recreation hut, so modest and humble a hut, and saw what the men were doing. If they get bored I’m putting on an  impromptu show later on. They’re happy now, writing letters on my patent stage quiet-room, playing cards, darts, reading and crowding round the stove chatting with a poker in the hand. Grand crowd, away up here in leaking huts while Americans have the best billets, and not a grumble, just keen to back you up when you give them a job. Dear chaps.

                        Pay Parade again, my section and Peter’s. Its a great business, a ceremony. C. S. M. Stone by my side with the money, Pay-corporal at the other with the Quittance rolls. The men come up, salute, pace forward, sign the roll, hand me their book, I sign and the C.S.M. hands me the money, which I give to them, repeating the amount. They take it, pace to the rear, salute, about turn and off, this one hundred and twenty times, and a signature for each. Very solemn and British and traditional.

                        Peter goes to Bishopton, five miles away, to be Master of his section in a church hall, half a convent and two huts. He has everything to see to, discipline, training, feeding, warmth, food, the whole lot. He’s staggered but he’ll make a job of it. I stay here, with my irons in the fire. The back of this is yesterday’s Part 1 Orders. You’ll see how busy your Man is. Clauses 6 and 7 are mine. Tomorrow I’ve the day off, with a car to myself, the morning to Paiseley Town Council and Greenoc.k ditto to find out about educational courses, the” afternoon at Bertha’s show. I miss a six hour voyage in the Torch, the wonderful life-buoy boat we use. But I can do that next time. Orderly officer to-day, a happy tour, our very impressing guard mouthing, lot of bayonet flashing, inspecting, champing here and there, and what have you. Got to turn the poor devils out at eleven or thereabouts, but they’d hate it if I didn’t because of the weather. They take the toughness of this place as something to be proud of’, and we’re proud of them. Got hold of a pingpong table and outfit from Lady Semphill !!! Whooppee, telephoned the sweet old puss.

                        Here are today’s orders. Now you’ll know all about us and the awful secret about the rabbit snaring ! Even our model unit has its little weaknesses.

                        The telephone lassie said an hour delay. The night clerk is going to dash for me when it comes through. Hope it does.

                        How I do love you.

Nice letter from Anne Maxwell saying its no necessary to go to London, that’s better. She’s coming to Glasgow next month, and will see me here, better still. Darling I do miss you. Oh

                        I wrote another Picture of  Britain last night and shall now do another. Address Evans as Lieutenant Evans, I should, but sign it Betty Scott Daniell. My love to him,

                            Good about Ronnie, I write at once this minute.

                        A picture of you, I prithee, in something. I’ll see if mother’s got that double leather frame at home, If so she’ll send it and you’ll fill it.

                         My dearest love, and, bless you. Don’t fret If you can help it. We are us, and I am sure we shall be blessed later. I wish I could sooth you.
An orderly dashed in, rain streaming, “Your call, sir,” he said, all breathless, I snatched a torch and flew out and there you were, sweet, soft voiced, gay, lovable, kind, inimitable. What a darling you are to be sure. Do I telephone you at Sutton on Sunday ? I’ll check up with your letter . . .No, its Friday you go, good.

                        Its all so different from being a gunner, even a lance bombadier. I want to go to see the County Education officer and a show, so I have a utility to myself with a driver, sandwiches made up for nine o’clock, all just like that. “James, the car !”

                         But I want you.

                        Plan of the camp enclosed, also I’ll try a shot at a panorama.

                        Blessings, dearest heart.