LONGMOOR, LISS, HANTS
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AUGUST 4th. 1942
My Dearest,
A lovely letter came this morning, which delighted me and continues to delight me. Spencers to coffee, no Macbeth, – alas – your watch being wrong and Vardy teasing you and lots of things. A word in your handwriting suffices to exalt me, if you copied out a page of Bradshaw I’d enjoy it.
Tomorrow we go to Southampton, leaving at 8.25 and arriving at eleven thirty or something. We finish the first day at five o’clock and I am meeting Honor at the bus station at 6 o’clock, she’s going in to a wedding in the afternoon and will be there. I can’t get a pass out, because it would be too complicated, they book twenty five rooms at the Royal and it would make it difficult. But they don’t give a damn what I do so long as I am there for nine in the morning, so I expect I’ll go home with Honor and catch the first bus out and change from S.D. into Battle Dress and have breakfast there with the class. Class 15 this time, no 17 we are. I couldn’t arrange that on the phone but I think Honor guessed and we’ll dine together and then work it out then. I can see Ame that way, a person to be seen, I feel.
I’m glad that you agree that we must be together on the 15th. week-end. If I’m free of duty and can get a Pass – most people don’t bother but I’m weak minded over law-breaking – I’ll meet you in Town. I’ll send either the ticket or the fare and a voucher for you to go cheap, – if you haven’t your pay book, that is.
Lectures and films all day today, very quiet and restful. Riggings of derricks and cranes and films of dock works. We are erecting derricks on S.S. Apple Pie for practical work.
I’ve lad the idea of rattling off a new edition of Nelson for Elizabeth for the 21st. of October, a bit longer than the last. It might help as an extra for our holiday, I’ll jam it in this evening if I can and so I’ll ruthlessly get started right now and send my love and no more. I’ll leave before the post tomorrow, and shan’t be back till Thursday evening. What a time to wait, but what fun then. Bless you dearest heart. The towels came, what a pest I am. Oh, Welsh Wales, and you, and candy and sheep dogs, and forty days of docks and forty nights of you. Twenty eight plus two at the beginning and ten at the end. Yeo ho, my dear.
Faretheewell for the nonce.
Ever your own . . . .