Yesterday I tried to write but there just was no time. There was a breathless dinner hour, 1300 to 1350, tea was equally rushed, 1700 – 1740 & we had a maths lecture until 1900. Then a coffee & welsh rarebit in the Naafi & from half past seven to bed at 10.15 I was busy with B/S. Sheer B/S. Not spit and polish, B/S. Had to cut off seven of my greatcoat buttons & sew them on again exactly upright. I had half an hours burnishing the bayonets scabbard. After that there was some re-blancoing & buttons to do. That was bedtime !!! The modern British officer earns his pip. But we are all very happy & cheerful. And the day will come when we sit back – perhaps. I’m getting know the people more. I sleep in the corner. A nice place.
We have wooden frame beds, with canvas webbing. Next to me – position A, is a man named Gammons. We call him “Sergeant”, he so flagrantly a sergeant. He seems to be 45. He is nearly bald, very solemn & churchwardenish. Large & clumsy – apparently so, at least, large nosed & large eared. He’s a darling. Been an R.E. Sergeant for two years. Very slow spoken & simple & very clever. His age is only 37, & in civvy life he was in a railway control office. His favourite expression, if really roused is “Galloping Geraniums”. “Fatherly” describes him. He’s a dear neighbour, protective, steady & reverend.

                        The bed marked B is where Briggs sleeps. He’s rather Avery, only gayer. A gunner like myself, down for Field OCTU. He is a Wellingborough solicitor, & his wife’s and architect. Married last year, 32, frisky, cultured & good fun. He’s got a crackly voice, thinning hair, a round face, much esprit & many low stories, loves fishing & shooting & sailing & knows nothing of engineering. He is not my ideal companion, too “easy” & without much depth, I fear. But a good cove for an acquaintance, & a smart soldier.

                        The bed marked C is my present companion here at the Y.M.C.A., Bill Martin. 38, very large & sheepdog, though he’s also bald. (All the class aren’t bald) is an insurance broker, been in the London Scottish at two years, & he is very reliable, often suddenly witty, & a very worthy chap. He was a Water Polo player of distinction, swam five times for England, & played Polo for Great Britain in the Olympic Games. He’s got two children, is married & like dear old Sergeant, always has his equipment just so, his buttons flashing & wears a khaki bonnet . He’s tough & keen & clean & a fine type. Bed D is another attractive character, named Gamble, a Cambridge man -Clare College, aged 28, tall & Leslie Howard, Cambridge accent. He’s married & has a daughter aged 1. He was a prep school master at a posh school at Scarborough, where he lives. Very tall & slender & handsome, blue eyed & slow spoken, witty & friendly & perhaps my most kindred soul next to Bill whom I love as I love all dogs. Gamble is a sleek well bred terrier. He was in the R.A.C. & wears a black beret & very striking blue pyjamas (at night). He has no engineering qualifications either, English & Latin were his subjects.

                        As for the others they haven’t really registered yet. Faulconbridge is a clean square nice lad of 30, from Sutton Coldfield, knows the Childs well. Carmichael is very top drawer & amusing & reads verse & looks quizzically at life. His pal, Drummond -“Bulldog” – (I’m Bebe at the moment) is spectacled, long-haired & well read. He paints first-class watercolours of people who has known, peculiar  in Battle dress & animals & has lots of prints of Cézanne, the Chair man & all those. He’s amusing & I expect he & I will find much in common later.

                        Yesterday there just was not time to write !!! And today we were on the hop from 6o/c when we sprang out of bed until 6.30 when I telephoned you. The others have gone to the Garrison Theatre to see a film but Bill and I are here, in the Y.M.C.A., letter writing. I’ve 10 pages of gas notes to write up,  we had two hours on the square first this morning, then 2 lectures on gas & one on map reading – at which we are all experts. I’ve been lecturing on it myself for the past month, but we have to have the course to make sure we all know it all. Then we had dinner, read our letters, washed, fitted up our harness & did our boots & paraded at 1.50. Two hours musketry in the fields behind & then P.T. a four mile run & half way there we had to carry a man 50 yards each. We blew a lot but a good shower & a vast tea revived us & then maths, Engineering calculations, from 5.15 till 6.30 & there we are. It seems that before we leave here we have to do 8 miles in 1 hour 20 minutes in full kit, run 300 yards and march 100 & also we have to do the full assault course in full Kit, & also carry a man 200 yards in 2 minutes ! Useful for rescuing casualties. We’ll do it, but you’ll have such a tough husband !! At Octu its worse. So don’t jeer at modern subalterns. Tell Eric !!!

                        The spirit here is grand, everyone grumbles like hell in the happiest way but we are keen as mustard & the N.C.O.s are very pleasant & tactful, treating us as embryo officers. Fierce on the square collectively, but sir-ing us individually. Three parts of the Battalion, B. C. & D. Coys. are recruits & they’re respectful to our tabs & know many legends of our arduous training.

                        Oh, No 11 class, the ones who got it out on Friday had another party on Sunday, before leaving on Monday. Among other pranks they got unpopular corporal, trapped him against a wall at midnight & sprayed him with a stirrup pump – & the bucket was full of khaki blanco !! High Jinks at Barton Stacey.

                        If Honor says yes I’ll leave here after Church Parade on Sunday & hitch hike to Winchester & Romsey, spend the day there & get back by 11, on the last bus 10o/c from Winchester. It’ll be nice seeing her & nice to have a change of environment.

                        It’s very sweet of you to agree to go down to Kettering  so swiftly. My mother’s such a dear person, but such a coot about herself. You will be able to see just how she is & make her rest. Also it’ll be comforting to me.

                        Your dear Saturday letter came today, & I just had time to read it. The frogs & the birds & the pussy willow ! The article I didn’t have time to read & bids in my locker, so I’ll read it when I go to bed, after the evenings B/S. No comment now, except my considerable admiration for your energy. Dear you, I’ll try so hard to become a fully trained British Officer for your sake.

                        Oh, a story -the gas lecture, with a spice of irony our nice dark sergeant didn’t notice. A year ago a C.O. was called up & came to this Battalion. He was issued with a service respirator, so he promptly smashed it, broke the eyepieces, slit the tube, tore the face piece, & hacked the canister open. Then he threw the pieces at his sergeant. The respirator is now used for demonstrations of its construction & has trained dozens of classes !!! Another C.O. refused to wear army clothing, because by an old law you aren’t in the army if you don’t wear their clothes. So for several days he lived in a pair of pants & a blanket.

                        We are 44 in this class, & we inhabit two huts, 51 & 52. Already a marked individuality characterises each hut full odd that.

                             We’ve all beds now, like this :-
                          By the end of the next six weeks will be very fine marchers & very robust cadets. We’ll be bronzed & hearty & commandos will blanch as we approach.

                        And my love for you will be as sharp and permanent. So will my memories of that 24 hours.