My Dearest,
Slightly lonesome to-day, full of thoughts of three years ago, and Arthur’s radio – in the next room – plays light orchestral stuff just as it sounds at home. Not home-sick, you-sick a little, but not seriously. Too much to think of besides for that. But Sundays are blessed days of rest and if one doesn’t go out and do something, thoughts turn to home. However.

Postie’s inaccuracy makes this difficult. Will this arrive on the glorious third of June or not? I expect it will, so Many Happy Returns of our Day, better than any birthday, indeed, it is my birthday, the ultimate better proper me’s birthday. At the time commonsense would have had many items to put on the debit side as to why I should not have married you, – insecurity financially, older than you, too chancy a person for you, too unstable a person to accept your company in life, too plain and dull a person for as girl of matchless verve and spirit, not sufficiently well connected, a host of good reasons. But on the credit side was complete confidence in your love for me, and complete knowledge of the permanence of my own; a confidence which anyone would have, knowing your slowly developing and always new niceness. So we went ahead, and all has been gloriously well. And this separation must be as cruel as anyone’s, because from my observation I cannot find anyone so happily at one with themselves as you and I. So bless you, and me, and us, and thankyou for your loyalty and belief in me, on which I utterly depend, and I mean that. If for a bleak moment of imagination I were to imagine my life without you constantly there the result is horrible and barren.

So here’s to our wedding anniversary, and I pray that we can continue our proper life together before long.

I’ve sent a shaggy parcel which is not a present, and it may arrive on Wednesday, which is sad, because its only sox and bands. I tried to get a little R.E. badge in Glasgow yesterday, no last Saturday, and Peter tried for me yesterday, but we couldn’t get one. So there’s no present, but all my love instead.

It was grand hearing you again last night. I went to Caldergrove about three – we had an extra mine-laying demonstration after dinner which delayed me – and after afternoon tea Bertha and I went for a little trickle in the car and went to a moor from where we could stand on a peak and see Elsa Craig across the sea to the south west, and Ben Lomond to the North, and listen to two courting larks, and let the wind ruffle our hair. And I told her more about you, as such occasions always provoke me to make a testament of my love. She’s so kind and generous to me, they both are.

Then we went back about half past seven, and had High Tea and talked about their Glowworms and I decided to try to find time to write a thing for Punch called “There are Glowworms at the bottom of our Garden”. And we looked at books and I examined the hand painted walls of the house, the originals, done about 1820, and the hand painted ceilings, and we enjoyed the fire and at ten I left them and walked home, tired to bed.

Church parade this morning, after lying in generously until 8.30, and after sausages and tomatoes for breakfast. A mechanics extra lecture after church, dinner at one and to bed from two to four thirty, to make up for the sleep I shan’t get this week. I go to bed on Monday and Thursday, that’s all. Tuesday I’m guard commander, which is up all night in the guard room in official charge of the barracks, Wednesday is night wiring, and Friday is fun and games from Friday 0900 to Saturday 1200 hours, with a mighty march, and battles, field works, demolition and everything in one great endurance test. An enjoyable exercise, but tends to be fatiguing. I shall go to Glasgow on Saturday for a grill and to bed very early and to Caldergrove to rest on Sunday.

This is 143 OCTU. 142 is at Aldershot.

We do want to be together, and because of lack of money we can’t. Still, there we are.

Congratulations on your pound from Marjorie. I’m so glad you are in such very useful work. And its a good stepping off place for other if it comes, it gives you a testimonial ! Your enclosed envelopes are very useful, because I am very poor and it’s hard to get stamps anyhow. But you shouldn’t spend all your money on stamps, for me. But hoe I love your letters.

All my love and gratitude, my dear. I’ll telephone on Wednesday, I’ve arranged to pop round to Caldergrove in the evening.

Ever your own . . .