1021 DOCKS OP. COY. R.E. C.M.F.
Dearest,
At last I’ve got hold of an Air Mail Letter Card, the fastest of all, they are in short supply, when they are available you’ll have a flock of them. Mother uses them with great effect and I expect you are now. I’ve just written you a long ordinary letter, by sea- which will reach you in the fullness of time. This should be a matter of days only.
I’ve been sending Airgraphs alternate days and letters by sea every third day, as Air Mail proper is off just now, aircraft having other things to carry than letters, even from me to you. And how is my son, my Dickie, my Richard John Scott Daniell? I’m sorry about the weakness of that sonnet, though I maintain in all sober modesty that the first line is not without merit. It has patches. Of both kinds. I’m a goodish lover, not bad at Prose, but my verse needs much charity in the reader, and whom more charitable than you.
This sunny Wednesday as I sit in the office under a tarpaulin between two Olive trees you are having the STATE VISIT OF GRANNY ROSE. What fun to be at home, Dickie the centre of the entire whirling house, meals, times, programmes, organisation, all to suit HIM. (I’ve said this just now in the boaty letter) But that will stop, dead and sharp, when Father Bear comes rolling in the door, for HE will be the centre and the Master, not a whipper-snapper who thinks everyone does just as he wants. Oh no.
There’s a poem I’ve found, by Sir John Beaumont, “Of his dear son, Gervase”, it’ll be in the Elizabethan Book of Verse. Also a lovely sonnet by E.B.Browning, “If thou canst love me, let it be for nought, except for love’s sake only.” I’ve quoted that in this letter which goes today by ship.
Morale high, spirits good, flies grim, everyone happy, awaiting the next show, whenever or wherever that will be. How does the village take to Dickie? Not such a stir since the Hall was sold, I bet. Mrs. Ellen approve? The Greens? Uncle Jack? My special greetings to him. Tell him the show goes all right here and don’t blame us for going gently, we are conserving British troops and being foxy rather than grandiose with the hurling in of troops as cannon fodder, a policy with which all soldiers are in close agreement.
Dickie, my lad, how I would like a peep at you, a solemn, rather shy, mutual inspection. If we can ever get your mother out of the way we can relax and drop the courteous aloofness and get to know each other. But maybe in the morning, earlyish, we can relax, even if she’s there. (She’s not very observant first thing and I can make her shut up all right) (Sorry, check and delete)
And your Mother is probably thawing a little and has agreed not to ignore the child altogether. Does she sing silly Victorian songs? My sweetest picture is of the pair of you, singing Mousy-Mouse come out of your hole.
It was kind of St. Anthony that he should have found you with my cable on your birthday and I hope it helped in your Dickie Adventure. A heat wave, you poor darling. I can sympathise, living in a constant inevitable heat wave. I do hope it wasn’t too dreadful. Nothing so tremendous has happened to either of us before, and I’m so helpless to comfort, to help you enjoy him, and countless times you must turn to tell me and show me things and me not there. But in spirit I am with you and before very long I shall be there in all reality.
Be not afraid to dream and plan of the future. Faith is safe. And I have a picture of you and Candy and Dickie in pram going to Mrs. Edwards with letters to me. The letter laid on the pram. Do you go to the Mill and does Mrs. Spencer like Dickie. John is good with little boys. Bridge with John and you and Mrs. Spencer. And the pram cover? Good Marjorie. The little lamb? I hope it passed away in its sleep, a smile on its face? Please say so.
Now dearest, I send this off, tidy the desk, lunch and sleep till half two, parade and then an ABCA debate on the Britain we intend to have to live in after the war. Bless you, and Dickie, and Mother Anne, and Candy, and all of you. I’m all yours, your husband, Dickie’ father, Betty’s lover.
ever…
Just heard the news, Sicily, is all ours, all resistance
ceased, the job we had the privilege of starting is
finished. God bless The King, Churchill and
Richard John Scott Daniell.
