R.E.MESS
LONGMOOR, HANTS.
—
Sunday 26th. 1942, – July the month.

My Dearest,
A letter sits in the collection box in the Mess already and this will go with it.    Its another day, so another letter. Also this little bit of heather with my birthday love, its gorgeous, and surrounds me here. Also oak trees, handsome, but of an inferior type in character to a tree I know.

Its half past two in the afternoon and I’m sitting in my room at No. 2 Moor Road, the others are out, or sleeping in the Mess. I was tempted to take the train for Wimbledon to see Rolf, but chose writing instead. I think I’ll have peaceful evenings this week as the course proper doesn’t start until next Monday. So I’ll try to get something done. The Library in the Mess has the Britannica, also Winstone’s Marlborough, also Scott’s voyage, also Buchan’s Montrose and lots of books like that ! The Times Atlas, for example. So everything conspires to be easy. I’ll hammer away at a couple of Uruguayan talks and then do Anne’s scheme for History scripts.

This morning Robinson called us with tea at half past seven and whisked away shoes, sam browns and tunics. They came back glistening and gleaming. He is a nice man and deft and discreet. After breakfast, three rashers of good bacon and scrambled eggs,  porridge  or cornflakes  first,  and toast  and butter and marmalade ad lib, with tea or coffee,  all done with silver and roses and good tablecloths, after that we went to the Brigade  office and  filled in more  forms,  and that was that. I spent the morning in the Mess reading, and drinking half a pint of beer in a handsome regimental tankard, and then had dinner, roast beef, peas, potatoes boiled and baked, rice pudding and preserved fruit, cheese and biscuits and coffee. No, it was lunch.

Then I looked up Wimbledonian trains and then came here, booking the  Squash Court for  five  o’clock en route, Peter  and I  are playing,  to get  hot  for  a bath and a change for dinner at seven.  I shall read in a large chair this evening if, I work well this afternoon.

I feel rather a beast living so very well, apart from you.

Officers on a course are supposed to remain within the Brigade area, but people do wander off. I’ll try for a permit for Wimbledon, though.  I’m attached to the eighth battalion for duties and discipline and shall have a section for parade purposes. They’re intake and new, so I shall be happier, rookie officer among rookie men. The rest of our time is lectures, administrative this week.  Next week we start docks work which will mean some trips to Southampton and Portsmouth.

After four weeks here we go to docks, and we can more or less choose them.  I think Liverpool would be the best, don’t you ? We can get together then, somehow. Hope it isn’t the middle of the harvest. But I’m only beginning to find out details of our doings here. More news as it is discovered.

Squash at five, after tea, and a good deep bath and then dinner will be nice. A sybaritic life. Different on detachment or with a unit, though.

How is my Candy ? And my Mother-Anne ? She was a dear, contriving entirely for the benefit of our few days together. I hope she knows that we appreciate it.

If I revel in writing to you nothing about Livingstone will be done and it must, so fare thee well, dear heart. My thoughts are with you and I shall be in the fullness of time. Until then, fortitude and faith in each other is necessary.

God bless you, and a happy birthday,

ever your own . . .