Such nice letters to-day, one this morning and one this afternoon, about your going to the post and being reproved by the Welsh Woman who works for Postie and the other about the walk and Eileen and Uncle Jack and us and all nice things.

                        A nice day to-day.  Wireless lectures and buzzer reading this morning, and lamp reading, a good dinner, I took a pair of boots to Booty, and more on the Ten Line Exchange this afternoon and P.T. last of all and then a nice-shower, hot and then cold and tea and here I am. Last night we had a very pleasant evening at the Sowdens, tame, but nice, with a good supper. Moderate Bridge, but that the room was so cosy and comfortable, and he is like a Uncle, his name’s Bertie and he looks it, red face, white undisciplined moustache and a harris tweedy suit. She wore a dark blue knitted costume thing with a pale pink undy-colour blouse. Nice brown greying hair and a D Sadgrove look to her.

                        Oh, does Eileen like the book ?

                        There can’t be many more notices, only the B’ham Post, and perhaps John O’London. I’m very sharply stung by the Spectator man. I dispute the Middle Class approach, but if that were allowed, why, not ? Is J.H. spiteful because he’s class conscious of his own slum upbringing ? Is there a vIrtue in being dirty when young and having a drunken father who beats your mother ? Sore making.

                        I want a new ribbon.

                                                The Income Tax folk have let me off altogether, unless book royalties make a difference.

Do you mean that you’ve paid the telephone bill? With your own money ? You didn’t ought, you know, really you didn’t.  But if you didn’t use my cheque, send it back, or destroy it, and I’ll pay Butlers.  Lets get this clear. Here is a cheque for Butlers. If you did not use the blank Telephone cheque, then give this to Butler, and return the blank telephone cheque. That clear ? Do so and I’ll have my book-keeping straight. But you weren’t meant to pay the telephone, you silly creature. Keep your money for yourself.

                        Good about the trout, you are going in for portraits ! Is Uncle (Scarf) Jack the agent ? I wonder.

                        I say, your suspected Flu. Be careful, bed down with Kaola, bless him, and have quinine and stay where you are till you can’t abide it any longer. You mustn’t get ILL. Do be careful, please. Its silly to try to be tough with temperatures, and you can’t tell me I don’t know what I’m a-talking about.

                        I loved your walk back with Candy, with the moon shining through a hole

cut in the sky and the dark hedges. I shared it with you.

                        Sgt. Johnson is relaxing and made jokes to-day. He said, apropos of our buzzer reading,  If I give you fives half of you get it, if I give you sixes a quarter of you get it and if I gave you Mae West you’d all get it.”  He takes his buzzer messages from the Field, all about trout fishing, grouse shooting, reveiws of nature books and things. Just shows.

                        It’s getting duskier and duskier in the morniig s now for the first parade. Soon its moved to a quarter to nine. Oh, I told Sgt. about you coming up and he’s going to do his best to get priority for me in the sleeping out pass scramble. Harry has the idea of putting his wife at the Victoria but I’m saying that she wouldn’t like it and that they’ll be full anyhow. I hope I succeed.

                        No more now, my dear. A quiet evening here for me, seeing what happens. Oh, Proust is gorgeous. I’ve so many passages to share with you when you come. Four-lovely pages about a church spire. Bless you all, and I write again tomorrow.

                                    Ever your own, very devoted…