A Saturday morning & although I’m quite recovered the M.O. keeps me here in hospital to be sure, says the rest won’t hurt. I hope to come out on Monday. All is well anyhow. Peter has just called and is having some mail sent up after dinner, & he’s pretty sure there’s one from you there. So I’ll have a bonny afternoon reading the letter bit by bit as one savours good wine. I’ll reserve the last part of this to answer or comment on your letter.

                        Of news there is absolutely nil, only that the weather has been glorious & the sun hot. One reads & eats & chats & potters about generally. I’ve been reading the Mayor of Casterbridge, with the usual pleasure, but I prefer Hardy’s rural to his urban tales. We must remember our own job. But it’s sadly, or gladly, true that apart from you I’m but a very ordinary person. The phrase – my Better Half is indeed true of you.

                        How is the financial background working out. Bills all met & not more than £100 overdrawn ? Has the Costume materialised yet ? And has our son plenty of gay garments still ? One of my best khaki shirts has shrunk quite a lot & I have it for him. It’s collared & epauletted & pocketed & will be useful for holidays in ten years time, or fifteen years time.

                        D’you know one can get to England in three & a quarter hours by Mosquito ? Makes it quite close. I know someone who went home that way & had three dog-fights over France en route ! Just shows.

                        How superbly efficient of you to have found the Penguin file & to supply the BBC with their addresses. Pity they don’t pay for rebroadcasts, only they do buy them outright. But your slick & efficient handling of the situation all helps for “Afterwards”. I think we’ll try to get in the BBC racket again. Novel writing is not an exclusive job, one can’t do nowt else even if one could afford to. My wiser self suggests angling for a staff job for a while, but my better self says not. We’ll see. It’s fun, planning the future. Not the Dairy Farmer, anyhow. Oh no.

                        4 – IV – QUATRO – QUATRO – letters from you ! Jan 24, 27, 28 & 30. Grand close fond sweet dear letters, I’ll answer them in detail tomorrow in another letter. For now I just  purr & sing little songs & glow & tell the Ward, the nice beaming Brigade Major, Willie, a bearded 22-year old Destroyer Lieutenant, & 2 sappers about Dickie & the gravy he’s now permitted. I’m going out of hospital on Tuesday & maybe for a month’s administrative work, so thoughtful & kind are they all. Dear folk.

                        So Joy Davidson wants some articles. She shall have them. You shall have music wherever she goes, sorry, just light headed.

                        With but little chance of success & strictly entre-nous, I’m applying for a broadcasting job in the British Army Broadcasting Brand. The little chance is because of my medical category – A1. Too high I fear. Your husband is a healthy animal, God be praised.

                        Also came a letter from your nice Mother & 2 from mine, a veritable   Thank her.

                        So Nonie has 2 sons. How very odd of her to have it so abruptly. And poor unwanted Eric ! Sweet of you to take him in. Imagine me stay at the Harrisons. Whoof.

                        My son does sound attractive & gay & debonair. Bless the boy. My love to him. He sounds such a good companion. Much would I like to see him. He looks at his old man’s picture, does he ? His old man looks at his picture ! The latest haven’t arrived yet but should arrive any day. You must have a studio one done when it’s convenient. A biggish one in a frame. I am vastly interested. Your descriptions are brilliant, you know & make splendid reading. He has the bone now, good indeed, & Candy & he are friends. Gracious & good Candy. As you say, she will be the best possible influence on the lad.

                        This is the most delectable hospital. They’ve just brought round the nightly bottle of beer per patient & we have whiskey at 10o/c in the evening ! I – we – are all friends. I’ve been here much longer than I should have been kept. They keep you until you fight to get out & feed you up violently. Nothing but the best. And the surgery on battle casualties is brilliant to a degree.

                        I’ll write another tomorrow. I must go to catch the post. I do spend a lot of time thinking of you.