ROSEMARY COTTAGE, GREAT ALNE, ALCESTER, WARWICKSHIRE.

My Dear,
Seeing as how this might reach you before you leave, and seeing as how I rarely have the chance – thank God – of writing letters to you, I thought I’d blue a stamp (joke) on a note.

Its mildly rainy, a warm growing day. Its noon o’clock on Saturday morning, and people have that unmistakable Saturday look to them, even horses- and Jack Shirt, not looking Saturday but very Tuesday, has gone by standing up in a float behind a Saturday looking horse.

After you telephoned yesterday evening – which was a Good Thing to Have done – I got rid of Cavey, after watching, with her, Dickie and Klaus having an invasion on the dining room table, Klaus being very arrogant, and ill treating prisoners, and having fifth columnists, and claiming gigantic victories, and Dickie, the most tolerant good natured child in the world, laughing and agreeing, and losing ships and then winning in the end, which is as it should be, inspite of heated explanations by Klaus that he couldn’t have done, though Dickie plays with absurd integrity.   Then I made them have a bath, and Dickie revelled in it and came out fluffy and pink and old Klaus agreed to immersion.   Then they sat, pyjama-ed in front of the fire and ate shredded wheat and a cake each and went to bed, where there were modified High Jinks. I went to the Guard room for an Hour, having a relief there, and cleared up that other business tactfully by leaving the shovel outside and telling everyone to go out for ten minutes when they went on duty, and the one concerned to clear it up.   No questions, everyone to do it.   So it was solved, heigh-ho.    Cornwall asked blandly where he could find it!!   Subtle, but not subtle enough!!!

Then from 10.30 to 3 I worked on reading through all the past typing and evolving the new chapter details, and then, pleasantly tired, to feed, finding Dickie, left neatly on your extreme edge, lying like this : –

I sorted him, he not waking, and slept soundly until the alarm went off at 7.30.   He said “Hullo!” in mild and not unpleased surprise, and I got up while he and Klaus and Candy frolicked on and in our bed.   Then they broke their fast at 8 of the clock and left, because of Dickie’s birdlike cycle, at 8.30 for 9 school.

Mrs. A. came and coped happily and kindly and went at 10.30, I had a fire here and the grate done next door. Then I wrote to Anne, Derry and McCulloch, because Anne wants me on the 31st. – you might be able to come – and then Derek came.   We had raspberry milk shake and cake and he dusted my books while I went to post and to Mrs. Beare. There we talked dance and quarrelled harshly because Nicky wants to bring a cabaret and Mrs. Beare said that when I was older I would know that people don’t like people singing at dances, they want to dance.   I said that when I was old I’d probably be out of date with dances. She said I always was awkward and difficult, not that she meant to offend me.   I said I was not above being offended when people were quite so blatant.   She fetched beer and cigarettes and told me how wonderful I was with the Home Guard. I said I was pretty hot at dances, too, and we talked until eleven thirty, she very charming and with her claws held deeply in.   Bloody hell, I thought, you’ll read about a Mrs. T.F. one day and perhaps you’re kidneys will be better after that.   So that was all very nice and cosy.

I came back, telephoned Eleanore, sent Derek down with more novel and to retrieve the other, and here I be. Kidney stews thickened and is on the hob here, scenting the room.   Potatoes done and on the hot plate waiting for the magic of the switch.     Boys due.   Football match on our ground at 2.30, me, ref., alas.    Then novel until I peter down to the Jeavons for an hour this evening. I’ll cadge lunch there tomorrow and take my bit of rabbit.

Candy well cats hollering a bit, but well. And all bloomin.  You are needed though.   We’ll not half appreciate you on Tuesday.

Fare thee very well.   Klaus is out all day tomorrow, and Dickie goes home for dinner.
Nice fire here, cosy room, all clean, you leave a GAP.
Bless you, and love to:-
your mother, (bless her)
Honor, her folks,
Aunt Ame and her colonel’s trousers, (Does she wear them, is that it?)
Auntie Min, her good husband, and their daughter your cousin,
and all the others, especially the one with the tea-set, whom I have yet  to meet,
but for whom I have already a grateful regard.
Candy sends her love.
So would Klaus,
Ever. . .
David