1224/5 Shipworking Sections R.E.  C.M.F.
No. 227

Dearest….. Your frog letter, leaped by the other, written on the 13/14 came yesterday, full of nice things and gay drawings of my Hidey-hole to be. I think you have a good idea there, using the ex-bogey hole and digging out level from that. It will have a good start and will be neat and not spoil the view. I think a good wide window on the south side would be good, have a garden view, too. You will have tea with me sometimes?  Please? We can make toast at my fireplace. Even have some music there. We must, when I come home- how glibly we now talk of what once we dared not consider- commence together a musical adventure by buying some J.S.Bach records and start together to get to know what the experts say is the Master of masters. But I am wandering from the hidey-hole. The only doubt is if by digging down level with the pit we shall create a sump and have to work in gum boots. I think not, with careful drainage. It would be a homely lair to escape to. I see in all this your protective maternal instincts, protecting me from Spotted-dick and spotted-dick from me. We’ll get together inspite of precautions; but you are right, we should be in each others way, me unreasonable and ruinously quiet instead of normally noisy. One thing I know, the hideyhole must not be an island, if it were he would cycle round and round, an ever-recurring head at the window. Furnishing it would be fun. I wonder if it could be brick built? Might not be a big job.

Thirteen pounds you got from Ireland, good for you, but you must be paid higher. It represents a grand line, that, and means good hard work. It is indeed your own and I am proud of you for doing it.  That inspite of Dickie’s Richardness.  Its a good wife you are and a clever wife and a bright one and a very dear one as well. And Fitz thinks Dickie has a Good Brain.  That’s good too.  It will be exciting to see him and perhaps he’d shake hands with me and not holler. When I picked up Francesco’s uninspiring eighteen month old nephew his shape and weight and size and yieldingness and snugness reminded me of what these circumstances have, among other things; deprived me of.  I’d not actually handled one of that size ever before.  It was moving.  To be a real Daddy and to be present must be tremendous.  That day will come, the war in Europe approaches its end, and folks of my age won’t be sent out East I think, and I’m in demobilisation class 24- and that should be above the average which is round about 28.  So all things considered we can dare to be sanguine I think.

I was delighted, and admired no end, your comment to the DCC about the errant villager and the woman.  Indeed; it was succinct and brought the full power of the Sermon on the Mount to your aid and so deftly.  Yes, my dear, sever with it; you are too candid and too Christian to be able to have much to do with the Church, as rurally administered. You can say I’ve gone Moslem if you like through my arabs, and therefore you have to be one of many Moslem wives.  Tell the Rector I am a terrible Polypolygamst and therefore should be Struck Off the Register and with me goeth you, and Ricardino. Mio figlio, il nostro bambino.

Called on Lanave last evening for half an hour: He had a Princippio in with him trying to get him to finish off some bad landscapes and Lanave was eloquent and firm and refused to touch them, not with anything.  He was the Princippio’s servant in all things, but this thing he would not do, not if he died of hunger and fell dead that evening, crossing himself, not touch the monstrosity on his easel. It should be Burned, in hell-fire, now.  He was beautifully high-horse and the Maestro.  I backed him up like hell and the Prince got damn all out of him.  A lovely scene.  Might work up into a Thing. You have had one Lanave I think? Was it used? Use it on the others anyhow; I’ll try after this.  Maybe. I am very lazy, a very lazy man.  Just now anyhow.  Just damned lazy.

Its Butterfly on Tuesday and Twiggy Branch (silly name!) one of Derek’s officers is coming with his Italian female, this time he’s got a nice kind of a one, and I am taking Lanave and Spink my good and revered Orderly Room Sergeant is coming as well.  Bless us all.  Lanave loves it and he is always doing things for me.  I’ve got Derek to have a picture done of his wife from photographs.  Means money for the Maestro.  You’ll love him when we come, what a day that will be; how he and his sisters will flutter. We’ll stay a week or so and you can watch him at work, then over to Napoli for the Opera and Rome for Michelangelo.          Those little pots; dare I send them by post? In tins? Packed in wool.  I’ll see.  More precious than the other things,

It is important not to get a false idea of the joys of being together again, and of Richard, because its seems to be to be so elysian that it is unbelievable: Just to sit in our room with you and he and Candy, little lovely Candy. Its all like dreams of Paradise. You to hold and touch. This unknown yet deeply known son of ours. It seems not part of mortal life. Great is my dreaming, deep & rich my thinking, far far thoughts I have. May the day come soon. For I am sick with love of you. And you have so many sweetnesses, & good fun & happiness to complete it all. I have not changed, only, if anything deeper in my previous feelings & likings. So bless you, & that bambino.
Ever your    David  XXX

So glad Edward is o/c Bears and other animals.

I’ve been a little bit naughty & bought 2 Kilos of  sweets & Petits fours for Dickie out of Bridge winnings. He’ll give you one I expect. Hope they arrive for Easter XXX

1224/5 Shipworking Secs.  R.E. C.M.F.
No. 225

Dearest Heart:
Posties gone weather conscious & has been coy.  We’re all letterless but a whole packet will come tomorrow perhaps.  All goes well here.  Pen because I’m being sociable & Barry is writing in front of the fire & I’m keeping him company.  Oh change anyhow I wrote last on Saturday.  On Sunday Allan & I went out to Cerignola in the car & had a picnic in the sunshine.  He’s brilliant at sandwiches & we drank bottled beer. Very nice.  We talked of you & Ruth & much of Peter, bless the boy.  Then we called on Francesco’s people.  Wild excitement.  They begged us to eat with them but I couldn’t face their bread and cheese.  However we nibbled for the sake of courtesy.  They send love to Francesco & are well.  I saw & picked up Francesco’s brothers little son, aged 18 months.  Dickie’s height I suppose.  It was interesting.  Tell F. “Il Capitano Daniell ha visitato le sui parenti. Stano bene e erano molto contenti a recevere la photographica e le notizie. Il capitano ha visto il bambino del suo fratello, uno bambino buono e ed eleganzo. Il capitano ha mangiuto in casa e ha bevuto del buono vino. Il Capitano se dispiace che non era possible a visitare la sua famiglia l’anno scorso perchè il era stato lontana di Cerignola, a Livorno”.

You pronounce every letter, c is soft & no letter missed out.  Try it on Francesco. (=Franchesco) .  After our visit, & tremendous send off, we toured all day & I dined with Cliff and Allan at their Mess.  A jolly sunny day.

Yesterday I visited Lanave with little Evans who commissioned a picture of his wife, from many photographs.  Lanave has framed your Dickie picture charmingly, in oak to match the other.  It’s sweet.  He’s pressed it & folded it at the edges & mounted it.  A fine possession.  As Taffy says, I’m one in a thousand lucky to have such a charming baby so sweetly painted by a brilliant wife.  Lanave is still waiting for the inspiration on Dickie’s miniature.  He gave me a print of San Nicola, which is 120 years old & he says is rare & valuable.  Odd man.  I’ll send it home.  I don’t understand prints.  You do I expect.

It seems to me a good idea to write a serious Geographical article on Old Bari.  No one knows of Bari, it is always Venice or Naples or Perugia.  But Bari Vecchio is a unique example of a fully preserved medieval city.  I have books on its history for fact & can take a photographer round & get some good photos.  It’s full of charm and smells.  Crowded narrow streets & quaint alleys & steps.  And full of rare churches.  Might work.  I’ll write to Ivy about it.  Agree?  I think I could make something of it.

I’ve been refreshing my memory by rereading your letters, which are all filed in order.  The ones of the four days of Dickie are fascinating, & there are the Salerno anxiety ones – you weren’t the only anxious one!  And lots of dear thumb nail sketches & little jokes, & playful ideas & much of the natural poetry of our love.  At Lanave’s yesterday I reexamined the polyphotos of R.J.S.D. He is an attractive looking young gentleman.  Bless us.  And you say he shows no tendency to be allergic to the idea of a Father.  Good.  I do look forward to meeting him.  Living will be so very rich.  God knows it was rich enough before with you.  Now we shall be millionaires of love.

Please tell Uncle Jack I am trying to find out where No 5 Gen Hospital is.  It doesn’t seem to be very near here.  But it may be tucked away somewhere.  I’ll hunt it out.

The Col’s coming up tomorrow to see me give my troops an ABCA on the British Empire. Preaching the Gospel with a vengeance. What would De Gaulle say if he knew.

I am touched time & time again at the sheer friendliness of Johnny Feaver &  Ron Channon, my colleagues.  They seem to take pains to do things to please me, & follow ideas with more than loyalty.  Really it’s astonishing.  And we have jests of our own & a pride in No 2. Coy.  Which is at all times heartening.  I am a fortunatus in my colleagues, here & heretofore.

Just been looking at your two pictures of R.J.S.D. over my bed.  Lanave’s framing does credit even to them.  Light wood moulded frames.  You’ll love them.  And I’ll love just seeing you & being with you.  Picking up the rather plain & dull 18 months old bambino on Sunday set my thoughts & my emotions racing.  It wells.
All my love, my love. Ever David XXX

1224/5 Shipworking Sections R.E. C.M.F.
No. 223

Dearest,
Poor dear you, with Dickie and the Measles!    No wonder you have your hands full and can’t write, and there was a gap. Your Mothers letter came this morning about the Measles and Uncle Jack sent a letter too, on the ninth (arrived today, 13th.) and says that he, R.J.S.D. is well on the road to recovery.   So the worst is over but you will be worried in case of complications and follow-ups of it. I am sorry, and do hope he has got over it, Uncle Jack was careful to point out that they were English and not Nazi measles.  Fitz will have coped and you will have had an exhausting time, nursing and watching and settling down restless Richard.  I feel so far away and helpless. But don’t take any notice of me and don’t write until you have time and leisure to do it with enjoyment.  Its bad luck.  But if he has weathered the storm all right it a good thing done with.    As Johnny says, no-one’s any good till they’ve had measles.  I had them at the age of seven and had a blackboard and chalk in my bedroom. Do you have to be isolated?   Poor you.

Uncle Jack is very modest about the horse, hengist. He says God did better. But Dickie will not think so.

I know that measles is only a routine childhood complaint but at the same time wicked little thoughts about complications come dancing into my mind, and I am perturbed about the anxiety to you. It all so precious a matter.  So I shall be very relieved to  have your news that he fares well,  I have to have comforting points of view from sane people, Uncle Jack and your Mother who deal with it in a calm and orthodox manner, and Uncle Jack says that Dickie “is now well on the road to recovery”.  So that is a comfort,

One wonders, we have so precious a hostage to fortune now. Your Mother says he was charmingly pleased to see her when she came back from her Romsey trip. It must be nice to be known and welcomed by him.  The time will come.

The Ballet was very very good, and brought you to my mind so much. You have the grace and wit, the colour and the sparkle which is ballet in your spirit.  They did Swan-Lake, eight Divertissements and Cracow Wedding.  The first beautiful and moving as always, the dances charming and the last rich in colour and spirit and music. The place was packed tight and the audience, all British troops and the show free, were wildly enthusiastic.   It is Jan Cobel’s Anglo-Polish ballet with Alicja Halama and Cz Konarski.    Oh, they did the Grand divertissement, Umarl, Macieck, umarl (Mathew is dead, dead) where the man is given up by the doctors and then comes to life when Polish music is played by a strolling fiddler.

Tonight, Boheme, and again I shall have you with me. Dear, I do love you.   And I am anxious under my sensibleness.    This is not a real routine letter,  its a little in-between.

Bless you, my heart…
David
XXXX

1224/5 Shipworking Sections R.E. C.M.F.
No. 222

Dearest…
Of course, this is absurd, the feast of music we have here, and so cheap, in that only am I extravagant.    I think its good for me, and anyhow that’s my tale.    Last week there was Lucia on Tuesday and a Beethoven Concerto and Tchaikovsky symphony on Wednesday, and yesterday, Sunday, there was another concert with the Grieg Piano concerto Handel’s Water Music and Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony and this evening the Anglo Polish ballet and tomorrow La Boheme, and maybe the same concert again on Wednesday, maybe.   Yesterday afternoon the theatre was packed and men standing at the back, 80% British soldiers and sailors. An Italian barrister I was talking to yesterday said that the amazing appreciation of good music by the English has given the Italians a new faith in the future.   Certainly there is a mass of still faces seen from my favourite box, second tier No.2.   Not a move and the stillness is electric.   It’ll be the same at the Ballet this evening, and tomorrow at La Boheme.  The concerts have been on three nights a week even since I came here first last December twelve month and never a poor house. Why can’t we have such music in Britain?    There will be a big demand,  Naples was the same, the doors of the San Carlos are closed half an hour before the show and a crowd waits hoping for a miracle,  in Rome you have to   book your seat at the Opera at nine in the morning and there’s a long queue.  Its not officers, all ranks. And its spontaneous, there is no advertising or Army Education behind it. There is Chamber Music at the Y.M.C.A. three afternoons a week, and piano forte recitals at the NAAFI,  Its heartening.

All goeth well. I took the picture and the polyphotos to Lanave yesterday and he exclaimed with delight.  Spoke of your Spirito and genius in the design of the sketch. He’s going to mount and frame it for me.   He loves the others and can’t decide which to do. Its between three now and he’s puzzling it out and then making our alabaster framed parchment miniature. Nice thing to have. Mother tells me she’s been sending you old pictures of me. That’s not fair. We all fall from grace anyhow.  Everyone here is delighted that Richard does not take after his father.

The Colonel took me last night, and I dined well at his Mess and afterwards we ate dripping toast again and talked of books and Shakespeare. Funny, us two. Some seamail came yesterday, the Brash nice letter which I will answer and the 31 Dec Bank balance sheet. I have not sheet No. 8, got 6, 7 and 9. Might mention that to Careless when you are in some time. Also a gigantic parcel of punches from D’s friend. About six months of them. Nice, three XIX Centuries, too. Shot on the pistol range this morning, bang-bang-bang.

Poor Dickie had Molar temperature when you wrote the last letter, the 31 Jan-9 Feb letter. Poor he and you. Its a nice thought the three of you, Candy he and you, in his bedtime hour and me-lettering too. He had written something himself unaided. A definite cross it was with very heirogliphycal twirdles. I liked it. I see now that it was Em in the picture but how handsome she is, how sleek and well turned out, how staid and lovely?    She must be about nineteen years old now.    She was said to be eight when she came and that was five or six years ago. Ageless Em.  My love to her. She’s Dickie’s special I imagine. A goodly Cat.  Our Em. The Sergeant Major’s white cat has eight kittens in his room, very kittenish and skittish they are to be sure.  I’m forging ahead at long last with the Glasgow play. Its been sticky because I have lacked driving power to make myself write it. One finds such things somewhat pot boilering, like washing up. All right once you get going on it good and proper.

Springy here already, soon be more so. The bad weather may return but not much. Allan and I are awaiting a joint free day to go out on the saunter in my motor and to go via Cerignola.  Will call then at the Francesco family.

Finished one round of ABCA talks with the men this morning and its a Good Thing. Next on the British Empire I think. I don’t know. They respond to treatment. I’ve got a feud on between some Aleppo gangsters in civilian life and some Beirut ones, each trying to be cock of the walk. I’ve got one for Court Martial and shall get the ring leader of the others any day now. There will be a knife fight one of these evenings if we don’t watch out. Great Alnians are not so violent as these but similar idea. Different way. Great excitement on Sunday had our photos took, in Sections and in Gangs and British personnel. I’ll send a batch when they are through. Arabs love having their pictures taken.My love to my son, and I hope his molars and up and doing and nay trouble – neigh trouble…hoarse throat ….I don’t know.    Bless you all. I have sent off the combs, not what I wanted but might serve. In a tin. Also an ordinary comb for no reason at all and some stamps, for you or Fitz’s Michael or Chris as you deem fittest.    My love to you… Now for some of the Glasgow play. I love you & think of you morning & night.
All my love
Ever   David   XXX

1224/5   Shipworking  Sections  R.E.    C.M.F.
No.  220

Dearest,
Just done a Thing for you which may or may not do. Sometimes they come off some times they don’t, and messing and fiddling seldom helps, because the better ones are flukey come-offs and poodled ones wouldn’t.  Noon arrived this morning full of the joys of life and brought the polyphotos.  If they cost you twenty guineas they are cheap because they are grand.  They are the best yet in my search after knowing Dickie. And the picture is lovely, its on the desk now and tomorrow I am taking It to Lanave for him to iron it and mount and frame It for me.  Its a treasure to have. I’ll take him the polyphotos too and he can get his miniature done for you in the alabaster.  I’ll send it when I’ve gloated, if it is any good as I expect it will be. A nice man, a nice you and nicely nice pictures of the son Richard.   Proud am I, as any Punch,

Went to the concert on Wednesday and heard the Things to Come music, and the concerto and then the colonel who was there alone joined me in my box and we enjoyed the Tchaikovsky fifth and then went back to his Mess and had dripping toast and tea and talked. Yesterday I went to the office and we had more tea and talked books and went to the dock, allegedly for him to see my men at work, but his feared his British Warm on the Monkey ladder so we walked right round the Mole and talked, in the sunshine and yesterday evening the Sergeants had a Smoking Concert and very good it was and so to bed and here we are, bless us, all, writing to you on Friday evening,

Noon said, apropos of you and him on the phone that you seemed as excited as he was when he rang up and he likes you. A goodish man.  Back on the job now. Having our pictures taken tomorrow, all the men, so I’ll have to sit and look solemn.

You didn’t react to the little bowls Lanave gave me for Christmas, the pre-historic ones.  I have them still, as a pair of problems. I’ve a box for one and seek a box for the other. Awful to drop them,

The Dickie pictures are superb. I love 22, 23 and 24 which are very much like Churchill making a good humoured speech. A lot are like Winston. In all of them he looks pleasant and in 12 and 32 completely daft and fey and gay.  He certainly seems to be vastly amusing, and I think, by studying these, I shall get quite a good idea of what he is really like.  He certainly is an individual. He’s a gay young person to have for a companion for the next few years.  He’s obviously much nicer than any of his contempories or anyone when they were his age.  I like him, very much.

The picture gives an enchanting idea of his character and personality and besides that its a charming picture.  Framed and mounted properly it’ll be a grand thing to have.  Now one of you, please, its not too late I may be here quite a time yet, or take my brigands back to Syria.

I’m glad you liked the Black Sheep Thing.  Actually its libellous, the person concerned is Rishi, but Nasr-el-din was a better name. Nasr-el-din is my assistant Interpreter and a very virtuous young man and not at all a black sheep, white and lamb-like. I hope he does’t read the Guardian if they buy it.  Has the new Postie bitten anything yet? What dressy folk Rhoda Power was all mixed up with in the Times cutting you sent.  Oh, Spectators, and Listeners still arrive and are welcome and also the XlXth. C from you and from Uncle J.       What is  Dickie holding  in  some  of  the  pictures, a  rabbit with black ears  or  a dog.   I’ll have a look through Lanave’s glass tomorrow and find out. Glad the Books have been done,   and that the Voltaire’s look nice, yes, aren’t they charming. I’ve some jolly green limp leather Italian novels here, looted from a looting American, he had them in  a heap outside  some   flats and while he  went  in for more I whipped  off  those! Fascist flat. They always are.

Playing a spot of Bridge this evening, this is a pause while Ronnie goes over to the camp on duty, it being his turn. Good Idea? I am going to the concert with the Colonel on Sunday, its Handel’s Water Music and Beethoven’s Sixth. We do get a good feast of music here.  Might do another  opera next week, I’m waiting for Boheme to be on again. I am looking forward to taking you to opera, more than most other things, of the  many I look forward to doing with you.

You are good and nice  and sweet and grand, and these pictures of our son Richard will be a great delight to me. He’s looking like he is a Richard already! That’s odd. But true, isn’t it. Oh, dimensions -if he doesn’t mind,

Tomorrow I feel Postie will be his old sweet self again. He’s been coy for a day or two. He’s a very good Postie usually though. Bank Balance alright? If this gratuity is fixed we get about £70, which will all help. I don’t know! But I do know I love you.

                                                            All ways- Ever  David

1224/5 Shipworking Sections R.E.  C.M.F.
No. 220

Dearest,

Having sent a slightly drooped-ears letter yesterday I hasten to send another, with ears well up, because this morning came one of the nicest letters ever you have sent me, written on the 29th in pencil and addressed with a push-pen.  Also a letter from Peter who is pleased because you wrote to him and told him you loved him and JGL and Mother Rose.  Also two 19th Centurys and a Spectator and a Listener.  What a day.  Also I went to town and scavenged for Pettine per i donne, and they are hard to find: I got three from a street vendor but they are a bit large a spikey and all the shops were sorry, “non possiamo trovare adesso…” However one little shop had peculiar ones which I bought up.  I’ll send this lot off and keep the hunt up. They are stars and spangles on them which you can doubtless lever off.  I also bought a pair of shoes at the Officers shop; good sensible leather for 20/5 which is a good thing for the future.  Also a pair of pyjamas because mine go “Skreeeeak” and holes appears if I get the arms wrong when I assume them.

Went to Lucia last night, and as usual the highland costumes were wildly improbable and in the Castle of the Laird in the sixteenth century was a portrait of Mr. Gladstone which was nice. However, they sang like hell and stood about and opened their mouths and drenched us all with melody and harmony. Me and Spink went a deux, he’s the Orderly room sergeant.  Tonight I go to a concert; and have been wildly extravagant and taken a box alone to myself; because they are playing the music from Things to Come and it will be rather startlingly nostalgic and memorable and I am going to feast in the only way, alone in my own box.  They are also playing Beethoven’s Third Pianoforte concerto and Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony.  So I shall sit in a dark corner and let my Mind go free.  Your ears should burn and twitch this night. With the combs I’ll send the Italian translated programme of the Lucia show, its delicious.

So the portrait is up.  I have not mentioned it because I thought perhaps its hadn’t worn well and had become a white elephant and embarrassing and Buried and Not to be Mentioned.  It could have and I wouldn’t have.  Glad it is up, though; until I come home when you can changy-changy (pigeon arabic) for the original. I was enchanted and touched and moved by your news that Dickie knows of me and speaks of me and knows about writing and actually wrote; under guidance, on this letter. Its precious news. And even pinches Jersey Betty’s pencil to write. Bless the lad. It was nice news that. Noon will be here any day now, Panitzke has gone this morning to Hull. I’ll give Noon your good wishes.

Silly Cuckoo, reading TT of the S!  At your age. But when you say things like you do say it makes me want to go and write some-thing: because I know you are being sincere.  If you were saying it just to make me write I’d know and feel awful and never write anything which must be difficult for you!  Altogether it must be that.  Yes, I do remember the incident of Creep saying that. Odd I can never think anything I’ve done is any good, and couldn’t read it on any account or for torture, it would be.  But you saying things does me much good, when, as always; so sensitive are you, you are sincere.  Its a fine thought that maybe you and Dickie and I can live together and love each other and laugh and have animals and hear music and buy books and have friends sometimes and make our living by telling stories about people.  Its terrific.  And that we must remember. Always.  Richard can do what he likes but I recommend milling.  Ask Miller Hancox and Miller Spencer if they’ll take him on as an apprentice.  I think after Cambridge.  But maybe he’ll want to work at the Austin.  If he does we will have failed unless he has a desire and an itch for lathes and spinning metal.

D’you remember the film Things to Come? I do, vividly. We ran for the Last Bus.  An important evening in our lives and in Richards, and in Candys.  In many lives.  JGL says some nice things about you in answer to some nice things I said about you to him. He’s a shrew man with good judgement, thinks the world of you. Me too.  I mean I think the world of you.  And when you send letters like todays I want to go and get an airplane.

Yes, Johnny Feaver is a nice bloke, stolid.  Prejudiced against three things, the Sergeant Major of the other company, dogs and Mihailovitch.  Otherwise he’s sane. We work together well and do not get under each other’s skin.  He’s very keen on his job here, a trifle unbalanced in his judgement sometimes but loyally takes my ruling and plays ball fairly.  Plays cricket well too, and billiards.  Good bridge but dogmatic a bit;

Bless you. That was a grand letter- Ever- David XXX

Hallo son Richard. Grazie tanto per i bacii & notizis nelle lettere della sua Mama. Ritornero subito, credo, & spero!

                                    Daddy- (I’m English really!)

1224/5   Shipworking   Sections R.E.   C.M.F.
No 219

Dearest,
The fattish sister lay on her back with her feet upwards with the feet of a ten-rung ladder balanced on them and the little sister, ten years old or so, climbed up the ladder to the top and did dangerous tricks up there. Really it was too much.  It was an ENSA show, all Italian variety, two families of parents and children. They juggled and tumbled and trapezed and sang and had their own band. We do see Life here.

And in the morning I had seven Kurds who had refused to work to deal with, to punish and also to soothe and reform. Three years ago my hair would have risen at the thought. Fortunately the future is hidden from us in this life. Kurds have a way with them which is tricky.  We have thirty of them and they are cosi-cosa  about things.

My Sergeant with the amputated finger joint does go home tomorrow after three years and ten months overseas, he’s quite foolishly pleased and has a six year old daughter to see when he  gets there and  a wife he’s stoopid about, like I  am.

Even if Dickie is famous he hasn’t much chance  of  being the famous  son of a famous father.

I am not sure that I am pleased your Mother has returned to Great Alne;   letters fall off always when she’s there! A difficult thing for me to forgive her.  She keeps you sitting up by the fire when otherwise you’d be writing, I know. Still I’d do the same.

Yes I’ll get some combs as you describe and draw. I did send some last year I think. I’ll have a good hunt. No trouble; I like being able to send things. I’m being ever so clever in not buying things just now for the good of a frig, or a new house or a hut afterwards.

Tonight Spink and I (He’s my Orderly Room Sergeant) go to the Italian theatre to see Lucia di Lammermoor. Isn’t Rhoda mixing with handley naled folk in that wedding cutting you sent. I liked those cuttings. Mrs. Eastwood sends the Guardian now when we are in and today came the Spoon nonsense.  Are you hard up for Things?

Noon is due any day with the pictures; Glory Be. Lanave is impatient to get started on his Minature: I might send you that. If I can spare it. I do need a picture of you as you are. How be Candy?

This is a disjointed letter because I’m disjointed, been quite a Day. Oh the odd collars, I don’t know. They were odd and were packing. Can’t Dickie wear them. I shan’t want khaki collars ever again I hope.  I wear issue collared shirts now. Cheaper, Mean, me.

You and the Bish’s candlesticks! Poor Bishops candlesticks. It does get done a lot. Bless us all. I am looking forward to seeing you on the stage. Send me cuttings. Peggy – I remember her, looks and frock and you have her – having a baby. Copy cat. I remember now that she was married; but had to think a bit. Awful. Be a bit sporting otherwise, somehow a justification.

You are clever and your brains are plural.

Its going to be an extraordinary situation meeting Dickie for the first time.     Odd, what is the approved drill for it. Bow or salute or ignore each other and look furtively?     I’d like to know. He’ll have to set the pace, I’ll be too shy. Better keep me from him and let   me infiltrate into has consciousness. He’ll have to notice me sooner or later. I can do the Lion quite well and can do handker­chief rabbits. That’s about the limit. Let me have some dimensions, even if only the draught figures (that’s shippiess) One does wonder about him,   its a novel situation, I’ve never had a son before and have no idea of what they are like. You can’t imagine it. You could try. Shut your eyes; forget him, and open them; See, odd, isn’t it? A nice experience; though: Mother; the stoopid, has a bat and ball ready for us when we   jointly visit. Hope its a good bat. Does he tend to spin bowling or fast length balls? Chris could start him off.

Gosh; it is bleak when there are no letters. The eighth was the last before that it was the 22 and then; going backwards; they were daily while your Mother was away. I’ll have her sent away again I think! But its difficult for you;   and I am grateful for the quality and the quantity of the ones I do get. Maybe tomorrow Postie will oblige.

Have to go now. A very poor letter, but I mean well. I’ll write again tomorrow if there’s a letter in. D’you remember the letters when I wrote from Rosemary Cottage & you didn’t live there? Stoopid of us not to live together even then.
I am over fond I fear! But it just can’t be helped, Your fault entirely.
My love to you.
David.

1224/5 Shipworking Sections R.E.   C.M.F.
No.  213

Dearest,
Your sweet  letter  of  the  22nd yesterday,   all  about  the cuddliness  of  Us,   and your not being clever which I  deny.  Yes I’ll seek out hair combs for you  and  if there  are  any you shall have  them indeed to goodness.  Slightly mad two days, full of Things, not written, happened. Last night I was Duty Officer at  the Officers Club and had a free dinner  there with Johnny, well earned because from 10 to 11 I was tactfully moving off drunks  from the bar, from 1130 to 1230 clearing  off  revellers  from after  the  dance  and getting  them out  of the public rooms and from 2 to four I was separating and getting to their  beds  from caterwauling  in  the  corridors  one very tight and very young South African  pilot, two tipsy Rhodesian officers, three Kiwis and four gay and light hearted Commando-Parachutists. I’ll have to write the adventures down.  It was an Odd Night. Then this morning I got word of  another LIAP allocation and the next is Panitzke, a very charming very enthusiastic very hard working  young  sergeant from Hull,  been  overseas  four years  and much  in  love with his  wife to whom he still  writes every day. But Panitzke went into hospital the day before yesterday and had his left hand little finger amputated after a docks accident. Could they let him out? A burning question, to go home and thus lose the chance they have of grafting onto a fragment of bone, or stay and perhaps have a whole finger. The Surgeon, a nice man, is thinking it over and tells me tomorrow, Panitzke knows nothing of it, of course. As I sat with him he never dreamed I’d a Liap permit in my pocket and he was the one. Its tricky. The   surgeon tells me tomorrow morning. Then I did my usual jaunt around the hospital seeing   the sick and patting them on the heads, and then went back and picked up an American dough-boy stabbed in the back three times by a Pole, His pal had walked off from him, to   avoid the trouble and two sappers were looking after him.  So we patched him up and took him to the USA hospital and that was that. Odd, a Yank leaving his pal, our chaps never do   that. So its been an odd time, Ronnie is back with his hand all right, and glad to be with us and, this evening, its fivish now, we play Bridge to celebrate his return.

Yesterday I launched our Basic ABCA on fifty of  the men  and  they drank in every  word and never  stirred  or  blinked,  drank  it up. It was an experiment, the Old hands said it was no good and would fail, but they are lazy. Actually the other company’s men were   sitting on window sills and crowding round the back listening. So we continue, I did the War, in basic English, last war, Germany, the two phases, and up to now. They were enthralled.     So that’s a good thing. Do some good honest spade work for British prestige that way.     They are nice and do respond so openly to treatment.

This is a very chatter-box letter. Silly of me. Cliff is a sort of a plus Major,   he’s Dock Superintendant, which is an appointment and on the Way Up. He was amused at your remark and charmed with your interest in him.

Shall I send the corals to you direct or to the two godmothers? Mrs Quick, Upper Middlebridge Street is it?  Yes, send the book of plays off to Cape, we shall not have to sign anything for a long time if ever. If you can  spend  a  quiet  evening putting  them  all  nicely together, with  the  title  page  first  and so  on  and all  numbered  and send  the  letter   I send with the same post as this on top it might call forth  comment, No harm in trying.   Johnny did ask to see them. We’ll stick to the published version of The Q and Mr. S. to be   consistent I think. Not done much more to that play, its sticking but will suddenly set itself free and run on to the end. Johnny is having a bath, grampus noises come from the bath room.   His eldest son has passed the LUC scholarship exam. He lives at Banstead, near Epsom. A drawing of the Horse Hengist I prithee. Shades of Hector! No I didn’t tell Allan about Nunk and the Lion, nor of the better parts of our motoring. I courted you in that Humber, hence my love of it.

I should like Auntie Edie to see Richard, She couldn’t get to Birmingham some time and be ferried out could she? Or later could you and He go to Kettering and Auntie go down there? Better in the surroundings of the cottage. She would like to see him. Good thing. I throw out the suggestion.

How did you get on with your Christmas Cards in the end, what did you get for them?  You are brilliant at them, and they want marketing. I’ll take the matter in hard when I can, next Christmas?  Who knows.

The carnage and confusion, the hunger  and misery  inside Germany now is a bad  thought, I know they deserve  it  and have  done  it  to others and caused it, but it is  nevertheless horrible and hateful. What a blessed day when the end comes and killing and   starving out stops. Speed it, that day.

I’ll finish in handwriting for a change. Just to keep my hand in. Then after this a letter to Mama Rose Hall. To my son Richard my love and greetings. He’ll get to know about Fathers soon & wonder what about his. Here he is. Alas! I’d love to hear you & he in “where oh where”! And what a delightfully vague collection of records the Spencers played for him. All my love, both of you
Ever your David

1224/5 Shipworking Sections R.E.  C.M.F
No  217

Dearest, A letter yesterday, written on the twenty second and a fine dear warm loving letter it was too. About you and yours, your mothers possible return from Romsey, Gerald and the radio  (yes, let the Andertons have  things, for the likes of Mrs. A. giving is good) and of your   son,  and how he  likes you to sing Mouse Mouse. Me too.

Quiet days there have been, I have launched a military training campaign for the men  and they march about, and also a sort of a Basic ABCA for them, and have had Orderly Rooms in the routine of things and an evening at Headquarters playing billiards and here I  am, in my  little  chamber.  Oh, in that book JGL sent  is  this, dated 1600:            “When a wife may Goe out”  “But there are foure reasons why the woman is to goe abroad. First, to come  to holy meetings, according to the dutie of godlinesse. The second, to visit  such as stand in neede, as the dutie of love and charitie doth require. The third,  for employment and provision in household affaires committed to her charge. And lastly, with her husband, when he shall require her.”

            So there you are. When he shall require her and none other times.  But he will require her. It is a charming collection, this “More Diversions”, and so good that I would buy a copy and give it to Jack, the metest way of repaying so good a kindenesse. Again, from a lengthy poem dated 1585…

                        “The daie willeth done, whatsoever ye bid,
The night is a theefe, if ye take not good hid.
Wash dishes, laie leavens, save fire and awaie
Lock doores and to bed a good huswife will saie.”

We are working a wheat ship, and all five hatches are filled with sacks of golden grain, and from burst ones are great smooth golden heaps. I thought of you and the girls, I brought a pocketful back for my three sparrows and two tits, if they fancy it. They breakfast on my window-sill, slightly puzzled, because Italy is not kind to birds. There are seagulls here for the first time, in evenly spaced sixes right along the rails on the water-front. They never came before because Italians kill them and eat them. Now the English are here the   seagulls know of it and come and are happy. So with little tree-birds, too. They are getting more confident.  They don’t trust Italians, but they feel easier now.

The cab horses are looking indignant because a wise Area command has put all cabs Out of Bounds to Troops, and the international Out of Bounds sign, a cross in a circle, is painted on the doors. They are lousy things, and also drivers can take tipply sappers to brothels where Black Market and robbery takes place. But the horse, being loyal, thinks much of his cab and they look very hurt, I was talking to one this afternoon and tried to explain. Hoity toity he was, a bit.

Forty five miles from Berlin are the Russians. If we get through in the West, a more difficult job and they continue from the East, shall we stop or pass through each other and go on conquering each others places?  We feel out of it down here, We are all beginning to count the days or months we have to stay away from our homes. I’m in 24 Age with service class,   fairly average. After all,  the people who have four years overseas to their credit haven’t the grand and delicious two years we had together, and where would Dickie be if I’d been   overseas for those three and  a half years? A sobering thought. I’ve done nearly twenty months now.  If I get home  in three-  and I’ve no idea whether  that is possible or not, I’ll have twenty three days leave to add to my fifty six, so that’s ninety days  at  home  on full pay  and allowances. Join up again at the end?  Perhaps not. No, perhaps not.

I am very healthy these days, through an orderly life and much good food and- I must   confess it, a quiet life with much sleep. I am calm in mind and not thin in body, and peaceful in my outlook. My Arabs are tamed now, and we have an understanding. They think me indeed their Captain and they are less naughty than they were and we handle the very naughty   ones neatly now and do not have to be harsh often. It may be that I shall lead a peaceful life   of plenty for the rest of my military career. One can never tell, though, I may be working a bamboo wharf in a steaming mangrove swamp yet but it seems unlikely, I can see no promotion, I’m well down the Captains list and shall be content to stay there. Rather the two years we had together   in England than a pair of crowns on my shoulders now.  Swansea  and Bromborough, river walks on leave, Glasgow and its funny railway and odd stations with tame mice, Barton Stacey and a weekend  at  the  Charing Cross Hotel, And  those leaves.    Yes, better as I am with those memories than without and more money now and more   income tax, too.

Does Dickie know Steamboat Bill? Too advanced maybe. So glad Annie Suffield got over her operation. My congratulations to the family over that. Be happy, bless you both, you & my little son. I love you. Ever David.

Your letters are so very precious & the day they come so much brighter and lovlier than other days.

A little letter because I have just addressed 5 to you, 2 a Post article & 3 a M.G. one, & it to be unkind to have none for you. You have my permission to decide whether or not theyre up to standard & can withhold them.

                        It’s difficult for me to judge. I’ll not so sanguine about these two. However.

                        Your letter posted on the 19 arrived today – 22 !!! A record. The last was written on the 12. I feel bad weather may have held some back & this maybe a leap-frog one. All mails been poorly.

                        Spotted Dick! You cuckoo ! Changed the bedroom again. I see I’m against the wall now ! Who gets up first that way ?

                        I’ll do justice to that very sweet letter tomorrow. For now this is an intermezzo.

                        Been playing Billiards at HQ with the Col. This evening. A pleasant pastime.

                        I must to bed. This sends my love – to you & the spotted Dick. I gather he is quite de measled ? Good work.