Wednesday 25th. February 1942.

My Darling,
Your husband, the Battery Orderly Sergeant, writes in his official office. How are you ? Two lovely letters came this morning, one written at Kettering and one in the train. Pair of shoes – hooray you lucky and deservedly lucky girl.

What news this day ?  Oh first a lovely parcel from the seven girls, your mother who did the sausage rolls and the six sisters who did the two eggs which I have just ate, carefully and, luxuriously scrambled in a billy-can on the office fire, bless them all, and  thank your mama for her letter which an answer shall have. Dear thing, she made me, squirm by apologising for being crotchety last week, be sweet to her.

This Morning I had my sweet little Squad on the Square and marched and counter-marched them, and then went in for a buzzer with them and then the BSM came along and broke up the party. Three mines were swishing about in the North Bay and we had to patrol the front to keep civilians back. I had the job of supervising. I drove down with Waddy and placed the men, one at the corner of the golf links lane where we often parted to keep people back from going down to the Kiplings or along the path below the links, one at   the links and others at various spots. We watched one mine roll in with the tide, huge and round and prickly, but it didn’t go off. We did the same all this afternoon and that was this day. I then became BOS and paraded the Guard and saw to Black Outs and now I have to do   the Roll Call at ten and lights out at ten fifteen and sleep here and call them all at 6 and so on. The BSM came in a while back and we chatted. He was watching me on the Square this morning it appears and complimented me and next week I’m to have a squad all to myself for   the week. I only help Bombardier Fry with this one, do the signalling and flagging and so on.  Next week he’s having one and I’m having one all alone Twenty two A Battery boys for a week’s programme, marching, morals, calling, kit inspection and everything, buzzer and lectures and map reading and all. It will be fun. One of this squad has a feverish cold and he’s all hot in his bed. I’ve given him some whisky and some aspirin and I’ll get him moved to hospital in the morning if he’s no better. He’s so sorry for himself and so tousled under seven blankets.

Oh, an astonishing thing has happened. I have it by a rumour from the Admin office, so it should be true, damn it, that I’m attached to the 43rd. OCTU which is R.E.   Transportation !! It’s so disappointing, at first, my heart was set on Gunnery. But one can do so little when the W.O. take a hand. It may be a stupid mistake, reading Robert Ack and Robert Eddie, but it may be the result of deliberate discussion and careful pong by some high and mighty authority at the W.O. they may want me, for some special kind of job. Its most unusual, in fact, for a man to be sent to an OCTU different from the one the Board say. So it implies, I think, purposeful change of plans. Maybe they think my age and qualifications suit me for a Sappers job. What Transportation is I don’t know but I do know that I am quite ignorant of drains, bomb disposal, bridge building and road making. But I could handle troops and cargo at ports, I suppose. But I said nothing of my African experience, nowhere, and they can’t have guessed it. We can do nowt till I hear officially and not much then.     After all, the thing to do is to serve as best one can where one is most useful. But I would have loved a troop, or a section, or subsection twenty five pounders. This R.E. job would be safer and quieter and peacefuller and more comfortable, but the R.A. is such a grand family and twenty five pounders are such darlings. All I should see of them would be unloading them from ships. It’s very odd. I’m disappointed but I mustn’t be. If Waddy says anything I’ll try to plead to see if he can ask why it was changed.  Anyhow at the moment I’m attached to an OCTU definitely and wait only for the Squad to be made up. So my Depot days are numbered and its a sweet life here. But not very war-winning.

Fancy wearing the blue first on the flash ! After all I’ve said. But perhaps the Sappers are a good crowd, they have such disadvantages, poor dears.

Don’t despair, we must face the facts and they may have some nice juicy job for me and others taken from other corps.

S.O.S. envelopes.

Oh do telephone or see Leonard and beg a fishing catalogue, a Milwards   one if you can, for Peter the supper provider. They depend on me and are so sweet. I call there tomorrow for an hour or so, to confirm our Great Outing on Friday. It seems that Hatter’s Castle is a bit grim and rapish for a Peter so I shall go to Honky-Tonk, Clarke Gable all gay as a Wild West Crook.

Dear you being sweet with dear mother, and the step uncle of mine with the giggly wife-to-be and the goat beard. And Mother will love those chair backs. Do the other one swiftly. Dear birds laying eggs, dear everyone but dearest you.

My love is yours, and those were grand days, and more will come, also grand.

Bless you for ever, my dearest,
your own . . .

This sweet pure and healthy letter came today. I’ll answer it.