HQ 4 DOCKS GROUP RE  MEF

Dearest. . . .

Back in Suez where I belong, sitting in my tent at nine in the evening of the Monday. First I must explain that I learned from Suez whilst I was in Alex that there were many letters for me so when I arrived this evening it was with considerable expectation excitement and anticipation. I carried the bundle about for a bit in the office seeing about things and in the Mess at the bar and then went away and studied them. There were six, of the 7, 10, 12, 17, 18 and 19 of January; one from Momma Rose and one from Momma Anne. So I opened the Momma Anne one first and had seven fits when I found that Richard was, had been, quite ill. So I opened your last one first to see what it was and there was no mention; only how nice he was so I felt better, and then I read them in order and found out about the flu and ear-ache and what a dreadful time he and you had had. You poor dears. I hope all is well now. There should be other letters soon since the 19th. with news.

But what glorious letters they are, read like that in a row, and how fortunate I am indeed.   It does seem impossible that I shall have you with me.   I have never told you before, it was too “strong” when time had no limit; of a quatrain I have thought of very often for a long time now…
“Western wind, when will thou blow.
The small rain down can rain!
Christ, if my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again!”

 As for you or me being “different”, I think not, because it is not the superficial things which count with us about us. As usual William sums it up in a sonnet…
Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,

But the time is getting short. It all depends on there being accommodation on the Reina della Pacifico now, she is due in from India on the ninth and sails on the tenth. If there is room we sail on her, and then a ten day voyage should get us into England, Into England! It won’t be long after that anyhow.    The situation is recognised to such a degree that Ian is taking me to Cairo next weekend for a last week-end, staying at the International, where he has booked rooms, dinner at the Mena House, by the Pyramids, an afternoon at the Museum and an evening at Henry V. And the Mess are giving a farewell dance on the 8th. which sounds pretty formidable.

I wrote last from the air station at Lydda where I had to stay the night on Thursday instead of flying on the Cairo because the RAF boys had “struck” which means Mutiny. I got through to Ian via GHQ, Cairo and as he had to get through to Alex early I arranged to go on by train. So I had one of the four Army seats in the MISR civilian plane at ten o’clock, and after a very dull very high flight through a blue sunlit sky in the rather pretty green and silver DH four engined biplane, sitting in a pretty cabin in a good armchair we touched down at El Maza, Cairo at twelve o’clock. It was a dull flight because the first hour was over the sea and the second over the desert, and apart from a ruled blue line which was the Canal, there was nothing to see.

I went to Sheppeards for lunch and it was very good, and then strolled about Cairo until four o’clock, boarded the Alex express and arrived at eight ten. Taxi to the Mess and there was Henry pleased to see me, and dinner and much talk. Saturday was the Inspection, and a visit with Ian to an Art exhibition in which some of our chaps had done well, lunch and then Henry and I walked in hot sunshine to the Sporting and watched three French men and a boy play first class tennis on the Centre Court, the boy, about seventeen, being the best of them all; it was Wimbledon tennis. Then to the clubhouse for tea and meringues and eclairs, and Desmonds old flame Sophy, came in, the sleek too well bred greek girl, with a female red head violinist who was quite quite mad. They sat with us and then Farouk came and sat at the next table with a man friend. They smoked very good cigars and Farouk told his friend dirty stories about Ibn Saud.   He looks quite nice, not a bit dissipated, well dressed, happy and gay and the only thing about him is that he looks forty five and he’s twenty five, but that’s no fault.   Then we went back to the office, I saw the Colonel over a few things and we played Poker-dice at the bar and I drank my Guinness, and then Henry and I went to the mad woman’s flat where she was practising, Sophy playing, and brilliantly she plays. Then to the Union and Henry stood me a fine dinner with a bottle of , and after that cigars and back to the Sergeants Mess dance, where was Mrs; Hardee, my ex sergeant, now Group RSM’s wife. She had a poor relation with her with an exceedingly plain child of fifteen who only talks Greek so I danced with the child and then to bed.   A nice day.

Sunday was office and conferences on my report, and then at noon to Col Carlson’s flat with Ian for a cocktail party, and after that lunch and to the club with Henry where I got deep into Carter’s books on the Tut-an-Khamen discoveries. Tea there and then dinner at the Lucia, of dressed crab, grilled fish and strawberries and cream, with another bottle of dtaatic, and then to the Mercury where Martin Benson put on a highly creditable Othello. Ian and his lady were there and the mad violinist and Mrs. Brownhill and other people I knew. Behind for a word with an exhausted Othello, the officers club for a Guinness and home to the office to write up the show for the Sphinx and so to bed. This morning Carlson came with Ian and Otto and I to Cairo, in glorious sunshine over the desert, drinks at the Mena House Hotel and then to the Nile Club where we had another three pink gins, me sherry, and Carlson ordered a special lunch, prawn cocktail, mixed grill of gigantic proportions, jam omelette and fruit salad and coffee, me guinness. We shed Carlson at GHQ and then Ian booked our room at the International for the weekend and we slept off our lunch in the car to Suez, even Otto, replete with a kidney and three chop bones, slept. Here I am. Back.

 Just read all through the six letters again. Silly, you, about the photographs! You see things differently to the rest of the world, people find me amiable and clean and friendly but not handsome or clever. But is good that you think that.

 I wonder if you are back at Great Alne yet? I’d better go on lettering you there. I sent a rain of stupid little travel letters on my little jaunt all to home, hope they didn’t all have to be delayed for you.

 Yes, the last letter to MEF will be sent soon. Its not much use writing after the second I suppose.    So by the time this reaches you your last one may be written. I can write to you up to the ninth. After that, watch the shipping News for the progress of the Reine della Pacifico, a British ship she is, I5000 Tons and a very nice one they do say. It all depends on there being cabin accommodation for us. It is odd isn’t it. I am now planning what To Do about work, mustn’t waste too much time, its you who need the holiday. We’ll be together all the while when I am working. I’ve got another play in mind, called “Officers don’t cry….” Another Italian setting, three officers messing in an Italian villa with lovely complications!

 Letter from Bertha, they are doing the Adventure again and she wants to send more gold, I don’t know.

 Oh dear, you will be too much for me. You alone, and you with Richard!    I shall go about bemused.

 I hope the Rector isn’t too hurt at my letter, it wasn’t really naught, I forget what I said really, though.

 All my love and thankyou for everything. Thank God Richard wasn’t iller than he was but you poor distracted dear with him with ear-ache, away from home.
My love to him.
Ever. . .
David