So I see the old year out at an Italian Docks, with my now so familiar soldiers, discharging vital cargo. Thus passes 1943. A momentous year. Two invasions & some accompanying, & you producing the living testament of our so fundamental love. And this New Year, which comes to us in an hours time ? What of that ? Reunion I hope, & perhaps the conscientious reversion to our natural life. But reunion first to see you & hold you & sooth you & to reward your courageous patience & fortitude. For your courage & spirit are admirable. A brave lady & a sweet mother & an adorable wife. I’ll be with you, alone on the end of the Mole here, the sea & the wind about me, alone with you. Me in Italy, you in tranquil Great Alne. It’s a boisterous night now, the sea  dark in the dock lights, & the wind ripping & tugging at the tail of your greatcoat. And the great Ships stand patiently in their stalls while we tend them. Brave ships.

                        I am content today. Two letters from you, the 11 to 14, & the 20 – 23rd. The writing small & plentiful, the messages warm & loving, the news all good. I’ll recapitulate the letters. The first:- cold nights & no me to share them, Richard Johns teeth, St Anthony sitting on our parcels, arrival of parcels Peters non mail (now cured; she was sending airmail, the juggins, but by your standards she’s inferior, but maybe right for simple Peter,) tea at the Bowen’s, drawings of R.J. Falstaff In his bath. His new chicken Aunt Em. Another parcel. Jewellry ? The filigree ? Dickie’s collars & your love. The other letter was your pre-Christmas busyness, all the cards, of more photos coming, arrival of articles, the arrival of half your Christmas present book, me being here, the Christening, Frank as proxy godfather, Dickie’s  & courage in indigestional adversity, tries to  Christopher there, my future attitude to Christmas Festivities, (agreed !) (pro Bono Ricardo) (solo) You being very tired. Also lots of love & amid it all the essence & breath of your precious affection & love.

                        Grand letters. Dickie. I dream & think of him so much. And I cannot believe that as well as being he is gracious & lovely, by other standards. As you say, it would be enough if he were dull & plain. But to have the additional charms of grace & beauty makes me ache with an impotent gratitude, to God & to you. On this subject I am inarticulate with gratitude & pride, not self pride, humble pride is that if what we are both, all three a part, the family.

                        So articles are arriving. In case the first three didn’t come I’m posting the carbon copies tomorrow. With a radio version of “The King’s Messenger” & a letter for Elizabeth Jenkins. If she turns it down send it to Bertha to try on the Scottish Children’s Hour. I’m also sending the copy of the Bertha version of The King’s Messenger. But Bertha may send you a vetted copy – i.e. pruned in rehearsal. If so use that. I’ll do them any frills or introductions they need for the book or anthology if they bite. We may as well try. All grist for the mill. So you’ve the Radio play, the three old articles & the stage version of the play to come.

                        The above was written at 2230hr. Now it’s 0410 on 1/1/44. Happy new year dearest. I’ve been traipsing round ever since, battling cheerfully with Adverse Circumstances. First it rained, no, it poured down water with Italian passion. At a quarter to twelve only 80 of my 160 Italians arrived, (they change over then). They were wet & damped in spirit & cold & dejected. We put the 80 on the quay & I went off to create at the Labour Office for more. Then at midnight the ships, being traditional, blew their hooters & the Navy yelped in its exciting way. Now that is normally the air raid warning, so all our 80 fled, incotinent. Because they’re not very brave. So we spent half an hour winkling them out of sheds & holes & Ever since me & my cheerful & loyal (& well booted) Sappers have been getting the volatile & wet footed Italians to work. All goes well now. But it has been a do. So my New Year was not communing with you but tackling fleeing Italians & shouting at them that it was not an alert. They’re so simple & so defeated & so on brave & they hate the rain & the work. Bless them.
Oh I had a drink of something called Cockerells Blood at the Docks Clearance office for the New Year. And a double whiskey with the mate on one of the ships. Otherwise it’s been all work, torrential work. But gay, it was all so perverse.

                        Oh, could you catalogue the parcel contents that have arrived, so that I can see what, if any, hasn’t ? You’re so sweet squeals of delight delicious & most gratifying & I’m thrilled at your appreciation, they don’t say what’s arrived ! I’m glad half of the book came for Christmas anyhow. Some of the pictures are very jolly I thought. Some shaggy horses I liked. I’ll enjoy looking at them with you. And if the Doc’s cigarette case came, so might one for you. They were posted together. Maybe it has by now.

                        A sweet letter came today, from your Mother. I love her letters. She writes so typically well & it gives be another angle on you all. And she can talk about you & that always pleases me. She is a dear. I’ll answer her letter. The more she writes the better I like it. She seems to tolerate “John Falstaff” charmingly. He probably GETS ROUND HER

                        Oh, listen, your stoopid, to friends who advise you NOT TO DO TOO MUCH. Your programme of activities in this last letter staggers & appals me. Although I’m full of admiration for your energy & verve & spirit, I do hope you will keep those precious reserves of strength untapped. Take it easy & go quietly, dearest. Your health & well-being are very important, to many people, two of us especially. SO DON’T OVERDO IT. That’s an order ! Grrrrrr !

                        This letter is spoiled by the fact that the calmth of the beginning is lost in the end. But I love you, so very much.