c/o H/Q,   No, 5  Port  Operating  Group    R.E.    C.M.F.

Dearest….   Such, a nice little letter from you this afternoon, and you were making some gay satin camiknicks, with flowers on them. Good. Work of National Importance, could be classified under Rehabilitation of Returned Service Men, even under “Young Wives Christian Endeavour”. I am pleased. You mentioned leave in yesterdays letter, a subject I have skated on and around. But to be honest I do think I can expect to eat some of our apples and can hope to have twenty eight incredible days before the end of October. Apart from my turn, which is getting higher in the list, the leave allocations are getting terrific, and when I have got through our Full Dress Court Martial nothing can hold me. But count on nothing, yet do not despair. I’ll walk in. If we fly I should arrive at Bournemouth, if by train, a Channel Port. Yes, the BLA have had the advantage of us, we feel rather like Forgotten Regions out here, or did.   All the publicity was BLA and although I had an easy time, the fighting this last winter has been terrific and in dreadful conditions, mountains and snow and ice and every ten yards a battle.    However, its all in the same cause.

You expect the enlargement tomorrow. Good, I’ll have it well framed and it shall stand by my bed.   The others are much looked at. Now one of you. But I’ll be seeing you first. Cancel all engagements when I come, I’ll receive people In the Boot between eleven and twelve only but not one evening do I spend out in other people’s houses. A few days at Kettering, the rest rooted in Rosemary Cottage. I may even stay in bed and barricade the door.

Of course, I remember now, it was the Kings Messenger. Isn’t that the scarecrow one?    It might be fun. I’ve not seen it. Hope the production will be lively.  You can keep the author-ship dark if you like. Coughton Court is a good setting. Which are you of the people? Who plays Bertha?

Drove out to Gioia yesterday afternoon, and found Marina, Giorgio and Mama – grannie, there without Poppa and Giancarlo.    Giorgio was patently and charmingly delighted when the car drew up, and Mama paid me the compliment of disappearing and reappearing in a specially pretty frock,   Grandma, a mama Atleeish person who talks a lot in rapid Italian and rubs herself against my legs and purrs for cigarettes – her only vice – Giorgio and his mother never scrounge – was pleased too and smoked like a Roman matron of a chimney.   We played and picked fruit and sang and had supper outside by moonlight and then went for a walk and looked at the great yellow moon and sat on a loose-stone wall and Marina sang moon-songs and Giorgio, until repressed by force, sang tenor opera arie, and at midnight I left them, having been urged to stay the night.   We had vino kept down the well and stone cold and pasta and peaches   and we were all very happy and fond of each other.

So its a Labour Government. I deplore their outlook but would and have fought for their right to take power. Its stimulating that after this great Conservative triumph in the war we can, as a nation, say, “Churchill Is a great man, his party is clever, but I think we’ll try the others now”. Its so un-European. I am sorry for the permanent civil servants whose work will be handicapped by unwise and unschooled ministers, but they’ll carry on. Its a pity, because the time is ripe for reforms, and social development only comes from the conservatives who have the self confidence and courage, backed by statesmanship and understanding of difficulties, to put them into practise, Labour will always be stick in the mud and conservative in practise. However, we shall manage, and lead. So long as there are men of courage and guts to handle foreign affairs and who will not appease everyone and so cause turmoil and the degenerates to prosper. We must now, as we are powerful, have our own shrewd way. They should enlist Churchill as “Outside Man”. Yet he’d be lovely in opposition. The nation has chosen Labour, so I am for the Government, and good luck to them.   But I hope they do really ignore much of their Election Policy. They will, of course. Atlee should now grow a chin.

I am nearing the end of a long uphill fight against heavy-odds over my men, and victory is almost in sight.   As a lone voice saying I could manage them and they’d be all right against a chorus of nervous Higher Ups its been hard work, but now I’ve talked the CO round and tomorrow he and I go to see the Brigadier and I hope to have the men reinstated in full.   Everyone shakes their heads but it will be all right. Fox going home was a great help, he is out of the way.   The other officers here were against it, but they were easy to handle, they do as they’re told.   Within a few days I hope to see the Guards all go and the men at liberty, on my faith in them. And I am not at all anxious. They really are very loyal and faithful. It will be a great satisfaction if it comes off, if it fails then it will be disastrous.  But it won’t.   These have been rather trying months, since the trouble, especially during it.

Mothers yesterday letter was very cheerful. She said that Auntie got “over tired” looking after her.    That is a good formula and may not be altogether untrue.   Auntie can be temperamental, you know, nice as she is.  I would reserve blame, if we allocate any, which we don’t.    I feel all this will settle down, maybe my arriving home may help.    If we have twenty eight days I suggest three delirious ones at home in which I   gaze and gaze at you and peep at Dickie, and then try not to notice him, and then five days with Dickie and you at Kettering. Might borrow a car, I can get a petrol allocation. Find someone.  I must remember where I am and not go and requisition one! Then back to Great Alne for the remaining twenty days, and a weekend in London on the way back. The last phase would only be for two or three months, so the worst will be over. When I do come home for good I get 56 days leave plus one day for every month overseas, say thirty, on full pay and allowances, then my gratuity, about seventy pounds and then only what I earn by writing or cutting newspaper into good strips at theatre queues.   I suggest a fortnight’s leave and then get going at rehabilitating myself to use the leave period as a starting off. But don’t lets get delirious.

The enclosed would be a good answer for Richard if he ever asks what I did in the war, Daddy. It came in all seriousness, the contents a request for the return of the writer’s son, who is serving in the great and Victorious army under the British Flag etc etc etc.  The answer is No!

Oh, Beagleys of Bedford, the Right Place to Go. Linden Road I know, Culver I do not know. Is that the housemaster’s name? Bring back an Eagle for me, the magazine.   I love you, and your son… Ever David XX