A letter came from you this morning, which shows how quickly Postie comes from there to here. A dear letter, brilliant in its atmosphere and wit and love and good sense, lively understanding and perception which, are rare qualities and all gifts of yours. I have read it thrice, and shall again before I go to sleep.

                                My journey was quite pleasant,  Barchester Towers made it so, though at times I gazed out of the window and considered all that I had left behind me, seeing again that memorable glimpse of you, in green, charming and unique with a golden coloured dog on a lead, in the midst of the quiet unassumingly homely background of Alcester, as the bus bore me towards Birmingham.

                                Never have I been mere deeply happy and more richly aware of my good fortune than during this week at home. You are so brave and gay, and so sweet and fresh. And we had our walks with our dog, our home, our friends, and above all our dreams, tangible almost, of the future. Do you remember how we discussed this, and felt deeply that had we faith, the blessing would come ? A year ago, when you were sad and feared that we should not achieve the ultimate desire of all true lovers, to see flesh of their flesh, spirit of their spirit, and to taste immortality therein ? And now, God willing, we shall be so blessed. I only wish I could be with you always in these vital months, caring for you and loving you.

                                Dearest you.

                                The day has been pleasant. I arrived soon after nine and at once plunged into Table tennis with Peter, and then to bed. This is a well arranged place, It lacks only curtains, carpets and a woman’s skill to make it complete. I slept in my camp bed, in very masculine blankets, and thought of you as I lay there and dreamed of you and thought of you when I woke up.

                                Everyone is friendly and gay and kind and teasing, and, bless them, pleased to see me. You know that ridiculous screed I sent Peter about the SPPPS ? Well, there was a visit from group people in the evening, Majors and Captains galore, and they all read it and want a copy ! Treason. I shall be Court Martialled.

                        This afternoon the sun shone and there was no work to do and I felt vague and unsettled and should have written, but I was afraid of the melancholy, so Peter and Allan and I, and a second lieutenant attached to us for a week, mild and straight from OCTU, named Lane, went to Liverpool on the Ferry, – echoes of your footsteps on the deck – and to tea at Fullers. We found all the Cinemas too full and dull as well so we came back. We read by the fire and listened to the Radio and then I came up here to our room to write this and here I am.

                                                A  nice letter from Frank Sadgrove  this  morning,, to whom I wrote asking him to renew my overdraft guarantee to the end of the year, which he did. Also a nice one from Bertha. She gives me permission to use The Adventure but hasn’t a copy to spare ? Have you ? I didn’t think so.

                                Letters enclosed – I hope.

                                I find it difficult to think of anything but the affaire of August. The dreams of all my youth and manhood. There will be no prouder Father in this Kingdom, nor in any other.

                                The biggest pang was being alone on Spital station, where we have walked so often, carefree and loving each other. God bless you.

                        That extravagance at Whitlocks frightens me, I must “write it off”. But if I am away from you for a long time you may as well have a good picture and they do make the best of the job. Don’t tell anyone the price, please ! Four proofs will come, and I don’t know if you choose one to have four prints of, or can have a print of each or two of one and one of two others or what. When they come telephone them and ask them that point. One for you, one for Mother , and what of the other two ? Eileen ? Your mother ? Auntie Edie ? Jack Lawrence – I rather think so, he is so fond of us and we owe him so much. Ask them if they do little ones. I doubt it. They think big. They’ve pictures they’ve taken of the King, and all the Lord Mayors and Nuffield and all manner of people, money and no looks, you know.

                        I must arrest my desire to write on and on. I love you greatly. I have many more memories to store up now, walks, your brave nose, clear and sweetly cut, your profile, your new radiance which is enchanting.

                        God bless and keep you, be careful, quiet and orderly and burgeon as the Spring comes.

Tail-piece.
A man bought a parrot for his daughter and the young lady hung it in her bedroom. When she undressed at night the parrot swung about and said”OOOO….Oooooo…OOOoooo. I could do you…” This disturbed the young lady and she told her father and he took the parrot back to the shop. “Ah, said the man, “that’s because he misses his pal, an owl who always hung next to him. Have the owl and all will be well. So the man bought the owl and went home, and the parrot was rehung in the bedroom and the owl on the opposite side of the room. That night when the young lady undressed the same thing happened,  Ooooooo.. .Oooooooo.”  said the Parrot, swinging about, “Ooooooo…I could do you”. Whereupon the owl flew about in great glee and said “Whooooooo.. .WhWhooooooo .” But the parrot said,”I don’t mean you, you flat faced Bastard….”

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