Two days have elapsed since my last one, yesterday was a very busy day with no means of getting letters away.

                        Health still good, spirits high, everything fine-oh, but your absence is the only handicap.  Days are busier now, a good thing.  Domestic & a sense of being needed.  It’s surprising by the way how many of us have babies arriving in the next few weeks.  They do follow my lead.

                        A handsome bath this evening, & a change in to clothes from the parcel you sent me !  This shirt I have on was washed in Rosemary Cottage & packed by your hands !  Lockley is washing my clothes tomorrow.  A busy day for him.  He has an assistant, a “Gentleman’s Gentleman”, a fat, chubby little fellow named Stewart, Lockley’s follower.

                        My new friend David is very gallant and Royal Navy & unspoiled, & so splendid when he is on his job.  Being trained from the age of 13 to do this job, & after three years in Destroyers. he’s  genuine as a Pippin.  He’s always reading my ” English Verse”.

                        His Wren, to whom he is writing now, is also 19½.  The half is very important.  With his men he has a charming authority.

                        And how does the garden grow ?  Sweet peas, green peas, beans, roses, gooseberries, plums & apples developing, & tomatoes making their way in the world.  And you.  Oh, you, you, you, the youness of you, framed in your garden, rich in talents, gay & cavalier, faithful & Faith full, loveable & loved, loving & beloved, rich if penniless, lovely in gown or spattered skirt, full of little arts, artful, of the arts; Charmed, & enchanted.  You, who are also me, to be blessed and loved by the child which is us.  Gay & with a great pity, merciful and kind, blessed and, by knowing, blessing.  Never can you pall or dull, you have a perennial bloom.  You have a quiet, too, in a car still after a run, by a little modest river, on a hill top, in a cut hay rick.  My blessing and my blessed

.                       God does bless you.  May he guard & and bless you in your travail.  Be happy, have me always with you, and speed the day when we shall meet again.

 

 

                         Here we are, idling in the nicest Sunday manner, sitting on our beds.  Ernie & I are writing to our wives, some blokes are polishing shoes, others are fitting equipment on, some are “doing the smalls” in the washing room.  It’s 9o/c, as I said, & I’ve cleaned my boots, tried on my kit, done up my laundry, had breakfast, washed and shaved, & had a lie in bed because of Sunday.  Purely relative, time.  Here is beautifully slovenly to lie in bed until half past six & a quarter to seven is positively luxurious !

                        The catalogue of events first.  I wrote last on Friday night in my little office. After that I cleaned, with the rest of the squad, for the Saturday inspection.  And that was Friday night.

                        [Oh, Sgt. Munroe, of 74 squad has just come in & asked, in a very broad Scots accent ” has any bugger got a divinity book to lend me ?”. (no reply). “Come on, some of you sods must have something fitting for me to read ! ” [Bishop.. No sergeant]. [Me;- what about the Old Testament, Sgt ?][Him :- Don’t be blasphemous me boy.  Come on some bastard must have something really divinity to read !  Well, it’s disgusting, disgusting. – Exit, disgusted !].

                        Where were we, oh, yes.  Saturday.  Usual palaver, inspection of the room by the Major, the B.S.M., The Q.S.M.  & odds & sods, us standing by our beds, our kit laid out carefully, our lockers & everything private thrust away in our kit bags.  After that, gun drill and parades, medical inspection & dinner. A hard morning with Sergeant in a very bad mood.  In the afternoon I slept solidly from 2 – 4.30.  Then tea, & a furbish up & the three musketeers (Ernest ¹, Eric Wilson & me) sallied out.  We bought 3 beers at the Balmoral, & then went to the pictures, a bad one called Lady Eve.  Then the Y.M.C.A. for supper & home.  That’s what’s happened to date.

                        Oh, your letter came after my snooze yesterday afternoon, & a lovely letter it was – with the Press Cuttings.  I read it & read it & loved the tomato plant drawing.  As for the St. Anthony business, I just Take No Notice, yet.  I daren’t.  Too much of mixed emotions spring to life if that is considered.  So I wait, to hear quite calmly that your mother is at fault.  I leave it like that for now, except for secret dipping into the future & speculations.  I’m liable to wonder, timidly, o’night, but then I resolutely banish all thoughts.  Wait & See. But………

                        Oh, yesterday I had command of a gun, all to myself.  We were shifting our two A Battery 4.5s to the Gun Park.  Ten men to each, & the Major said, “Sergt. you take this one & you, Daniell take charge of the other”.  So with 10 men, one howitzer & one trailer, we went out onto the road, down to the main gates, in the main Drive & round.  Not a long journey, mark you, but a nice one.  All traffic stopped, buses, lorries & all, have my fierce grey gleaming howitzer & its ten pushing & pulling men.  What’s more the Colonel passed & we did the nicest “Eyes Right!” Singing out Halt to a 5 Ton gun worth singing about, & we wheeled majestically across the road with such blatant priority.  Even a double decker bus quailed & cringed back.
                   Poor Bill Potter, the “intellectual one” has gone sick & was seen head heavily bandaged, going off to Scarboro’ Hospital.  I’m going to see him this afternoon.  He dislikes it, but agrees that we must do our stuff manfully to end this war.  I’m getting militant, I want to get into action against Jerry to show the bastard how hopeless it is to stand up against the British.  I feel very British & well booted.

¶          I’m in crying need of hankies.

¶          Did you get your money ?

¶          How are the Home Guard .

¶          Please get hold of several B’ham Posts & see if Gwennie still has her                                   page.  I’ve several ideas if she does:-
“Sunday Morning in Barracks”
” The Canteen”.

Your letter:

¶          Yes it is Patrick MULROONEY.

¶          Yes I can read your writing, beautifully, it is the nicest writing I know of.

¶          if I go on to OCTU I’ll certainly stay till the spring.  If.  Maybe if not.

¶         Bless the Ellens.  My greetings to them & say I’m very well & love                                      soldiering & I am learning how to finish the war.  And say that I’m                                                 happier in the knowledge that they’ll keep an eye on you.

¶          Only one vaccination, 2 T.A.B.’s injection, (that’s anti Typhoid) & one                                anti tetanus.  That’s all & I’m recovered completely.

¶          Why d’you “worry about Wednesday”.  Why Wednesday ? ?

My programme for today is letters until dinner (Ernie & Eric have gone walking for a drink) & a walk see Bill this afternoon where some books I’ve brought for him.  Then, may be, Church this evening if I can find a nice little village church.  Then 8 – 10, Bridge with Ernie, Applebottom & Wilfred.

I’m now going to write to uncle Jack.  Oh, why not get some wholemeal flour & make bread ?

Bless you very much, & is it heads or tails ?  Well, we’re us & dinne fache ye’sen.  But if it is heads, then . . . . .  well . . . Eh, bien, not time to let thoughts have their reign yet.

¹