Postie has repented with a vengeance, and brought me two letters from you, real first class ones. I’ve just read them quietly and shall read them again before I go to bed. He also brought me one from Mother, One from Granny-Distaff, one from Stephen Sunderland and an airgraph from Bertha, a wollop of Postie. It’s been a backwards day, Docks from 00.00 hrs till 0800, breakfast and bed until four, sleeping without a dream, then tea and buttered toast in bed, a blazing bath in our luxury stream-lined bathroom, careful dressing, high tea, and the Mail came. Off to the pictures with Peter, a silly one called “The More the Merrier” but quite fun, then up here to the barracks, were I have read my mail, fondling the letter in the pictures and ever since and gloating.

                        The letters are rare and fine, sent on the fifth and ninth of December. The first was choir practice, Chip on leave, and the parcel arriving. Glad the stockings made the trip and that they fit and please. They pleased me, to be able to send them. Then you went on about us, very agreeably and soundly, and then Mrs. Spencer to tea, the plans for the Christening, Mary Hanson, Sunday morning with Dickie-Dido and uncle Jack Hancox, a fine idea and gratifying, a Good Liberal Influence, and charming of each to like the other, and altogether a fine letter and makes me inly glad indeed. The other began about flashing foreigners dancing the Tarantella with me, – they don’t, flash or dance. I find them all insipid and only danced for politeness sake and shot off to my room. They confided to Cliff that they couldn’t understand me, I was typically English, so very cold and well mannered. I’m not, you know, not with the right person. Not very anyhow, or shan’t be. Oh no. Then you said that Careless had cancelled the Sadgrove guarantee, which is good and thought the account was healthy. By a winter or spring coat directly we revert to black ink on the statement, and muck it up again. Do buy a nice new coat, please. I mean that. Then you say write, and I will, when I can, and I shan’t tire myself, because I have so great in need for the proceeds now. Your mother was at a whist drive, a good thing, And then memories, see below. . . Then Dickie swore a bit and you coped, Then Caporale which you like, good, then the other presents, money box does open, I’ll show you when I come home, or Dickie only, it’s his box and I might want to sub from it to balance cricket club accounts, the other parcel has arrived, the whirligig and the other stockings and the face creamy things. Were the the mad beads with that lot ? The bead and wooden ones ?, and you liked the cosmetics, good. Did we get those through duty-free, rather naughty of us if we did, then the drawing of Dickie-Dido in the Moses basket, and so to the end of delight no. 2

                        I find stockings unavailable here or you should have some more. There are none of the shops full of nice things here as in Napoli, but I may get a few days leave to Napoli, stay at the club, and go La Boheme at the San Carlo every afternoon and shop in the mornings. There is talk of local leave for officers.

                        The Christening, do as you want and I’ll play and back you up. If I know the date and time I’ll synchronised my watch and be with you. I think there were other stockings, by the way. I’m not sure. It’s odd that the book parcels got there so soon and the others sent a month before so long afterwards, maybe the box went ordinary postal something. So many things I want for you, and shall provide.

                        Yes, I was remembering only yesterday bananas and coffee at half past two in the morning, and I also have vivid and dear memories of Mrs Pearce’s sofa thing. And Chaucer, and the buses we just caught and the one we missed, and how I used to think and wait and work out the time all the afternoon when you are coming, and wonder, in the very earliest days only, if you would not bother suddenly and go out with someone else, of your own age and someone clever and orthodox and sensible. But you are blessedly unreasonable and impracticable and dotty yourself. I remember too, and in a crossing letter have reminded you New Year at the Vic. And Scarborough all still and silver in the moonlight. I want to walk with you above Naples in the moonlight, too. It wasn’t coffee with the Banana but milk.

                        And our memories contain also a myriad of nameless unoccasions, visions of each other, special intimate smiles in public, singing drives in the car, stupid word games, and unnecessary and unrecords strolls round the garden. Yes, I remember those early cricket practices at Great Alne.

                        I’m glad you’re doing Posters, everyone loves you and its good that you can do something for the village, our village. And as for you and I, my dear it is for us a miracle and a sure sign that there is a God.

                        This will come after Christmas so you will have received the things from Peter. I hope he succeeded with some of the records I listed and the books. One chapter is about “Monkey.”

                        This son of mine ! Your mother was so charming and admiring about him and she’s an honest person. Bless the lad, he’s been very clever, making me a father; me. And you are nearly 30. Shshshsh. What about ME ? But I’m so fit and bouncy and elastic and vigourous and not fat that I’ll not be forty, not for ten years yet. Bless you, sweetheart. . .