. . . .SCOTLAND. . . .

Sunday May 3rd. 1942, or army-wise 3 May 42

My Dearest one,
Its five to six and at ten past I put on my hat, with the best Sunday-Go-To-Meeting silk hat band, and stroll into Bothwell to telephone you, which is a GREAT Thrill.  I’ve just stopped work, nice interesting work, but it kept me from going to Bertha’s. We went out yesterday morning on bikes to a housing estate being built. We were told that we were R.E. Field Section Leaders, sent by our C.O. to recce this road to see if it was suitable for billeting our section of 65 men, for C.Q.M.S. stores and for the O.C. So we paced and measured and explored houses and came back after an hour. And this afternoon we’ve all been writing a Recce report, with a sketch map, according to the many rules and regulations. Mine is finished, pinned together and ready for handing in at 0630 hours tomorrow. Great fun, the map worried me but came out fairly well. The result I don’t like to think of, but I hope I’ve done adequately. This morning was Church Parade, a march to Hamilton of three nice sunny miles all in clean white decorations and a thirty minute service, but it took the morning more or less. Now I go telephoning and come back to swat for three concentrated hours for tomorrow’s Organisation examination. Its all so new, and the exam is a bit important. A busy life but all interesting.

I have my brown brogues on, nice you for sending them, and the last pie went this afternoon at tea. The others went yesterday and two at four o’clock lying in a bunker on the golf course. It was a lovely morning, and we were fighting from 3.30 to five thirty. I was a grenadier and hurled flashbangs valiantly at the enemy and made Big Bangs, which pleased, me.

Yesterday afternoon I did go out, with Peter. We bussed to Glasgow and trammed out to Queen’s Park and went to a Church Hall where there was a large audience of clean Sunday School children 5-8 in two thirds, and parents and us at the back. The Children’s Theatre Is SUPERB.  Its slick, colourful, modern, with a precision and minimum, of effort and splash which delights. Charming sketches, nursery rhymes, ballet by a damn good dancer, a pro, they all are. There was humour which was wit, music, colour, life and a splendid verve. A grand show.  They perform every day you know, seven days a week, at different places. I go to phone you, see you later.

Later . . .

How clear and fresh – yes, and musical your voice was. I didn’t say so much that I wanted  to say, that I loved Bertha’s show, that I love you, that I want to see you, but  must stick it hard for this month but shall try to  save up to dash home next month, just for  the sake of it, or meet you half way. But the talk we did have was fine, very.

The hard pencil don’t buy, I could do that, it was in case you had a spare   stock. Have you a red and or a blue one?  Haven’t I? Posh ones, from the Dairy days?

Its gorgeous young summer weather, very hot and fresh with it and trees all newly apparrailed. But I just can’t idle with this delightful pursuit,   I’ve my precis to read up, seven of them, and my trousers to press and gaiters and rifle sling to blanco, and boots   to clean, and all that sort of thing and its a quarter to nine. It was after eight when I got back from my Sunday Evening Walk, and I’ve had supper in the Naafi, talking shop for the exam the while. We Don’t Let Up!  But its good work.

No more now, I’ll write, I hope, tomorrow evening, Poor old Candy. So glad you’re better from your tummy trouble. Bless you all. How’s cricket?

I’m such a fond fool where you are concerned. Yes, I think of things in bed at night.

Bless you, dearest one.

Ever your own husband, fond and foolish.