1021 Docks Operating Coy. R.E. C.M.F.
Dearest Heart,
Have you paid the Andertons? It used to be the fifteenth that I paid them always. Those were the days, and those are the days. Can you find room in the menage for Washbrooke and Lockley? Also for my Orderly Room Sergeant?
Still well and full of fun and games. We have a villa now, a rich man’s villa on the front by the beach, but in respect of your request that I take all precautions I have had the courage to retain my little hole in the ground and sleep out, although I have a marble bed room I could use. Which shows how I take every care for self preservation, even risking the frisky jeers of officers who lack the courage to go to the hole. I say there’s nothing like a nice little hole in the ground.
After Sicily we went to Tripoli, Having left there I can divulge our various resting places. The beach at Pachino on the 10th. July, – get your atlas – in the south eastern tip, then after two weeks when the job was done there, up to the olive grove north of Augusta, waiting for the fall of Catania. Then a change of plan, and half the company went to North Africa, then the rest with me, to Tripoli, where we had a camp about five miles out. Tripoli is very much a British garrison, with a fascinating Arab quarter the old, walled city, a lot of Marks and Spencer- Burtons the tailors- buildings in wide streets built by the Fascists and making a pompous vista but cheap nasty buildings, c’est un type. Jeeps, tanks, Staff cars, trucks in streams overtake persevering arabs on bicycles with red fez -not on the bicycles – disdainful fascist camels with swaying berobed arabs on the top,- top is the word – and nice little demure donkeys with delicate feet with other arabs on the top. Musks shout things from mezzuins or whatever they are and arab tailors do a brisk trade putting a hem on soldiers shorts with Singer sewing machines in doorways of one room houses. The lights on the prom, the good gardens and excellent statues make it gay, and red tabs abound. A quite jolly place. But that was that.
This is Italy, with not an Italian in sight, only Germans. Persistent Germans who seem to resent our approach to the Third Reich. But I’ve penetrated into a little town and there saw Italians returning home with full kit looking pleased and shops opening, and life going on despite German and British activity Naval, aerial and artillery. I’ve got Dickie a lovely bayonet which folds up and makes a dinner knife or a dagger. He’ll like it.
Oh, my feet. All is well, the doc has taken them to his bosom and swears to cure them. And my dear, lift again your head, its ATHLETES FOOT I’ve got. Haha! Athletes foot is rather nice. But its contagious so- you’ve been lucky. I’ve got some nice jars of Italian beef extract and have it at eleven and bedtime, eight at night. Very fine and rare and tasty. Also apples galore, dates and peaches are ripening up. Grapes are still with us but common. Also whopping big walnuts. I’ve just sent an “after operational” cable, a ready made one, the only kind working, incase you read the papers and were worried. Peter tells me he’s sent one from a ship to May which covers me as well so she will telephone you I expect. No inwards mail yet, of course, but there will be soon, I’ve a sackful due to me, I’ve only had six ordinary ones and the first of this kind.
And how fares my son. your son, our son? Any indications of literary or artistic tendencies. Do you sing to him and play Cesar Franck? Do so. And your sainted mother, or saintly shall I say? And mine I cabled her too. I expect you get all our goings on on the radio only you can’t always tell which is our show, us being War Office troops and detachable from army to army. This time they gave us the slightly stickier one, which is certainly a compliment.
Now for dinner, -and bless you all. I’m a fond father and a fonder husband. Thank Leonard for his witty airgraph, I was too hectic just then to reply as wittily. The first outsider letter I’ve had.
Bless you all…
ever…