It was naughty of me to write that rather self-pitying letter last time and I’m sorry. I’m more sensible now and am not silly about myself, though I do still need and want you very much indeed. But we shall meet. JGL sent a charming letter about his trip and said nice things about you and Dickie, and observed that although no complaint passes your lips you are very forlorn too about us. Bless us, I must not be stoopid, it was this other affair as well. All is as it was, we await an Order to move, not us but the men., Politically its tricky.

                        Its very very hot here and in addition to the disorganization of the war and invasions, the weather has been wrong for the crops, not enough rain, a sparse harvest, little corn and little Pasta, Alas. Even il cielo is against the Italians now. I suppose it will be universal, France and other countries as well.

                        I spent the evening last night with the Savviozzi family, and stayed for La Cena, which began afr half past ten and went on until nearly midnight, from Pasta through various—morsels of differently prepared meats to cherries and sweets. The usual situation of the family plus a bewildering succession of other people, men in coloured singlets and strange females. They are all part of the opera world and there’s a wealth of interesting material with them, the inside of the opera box as it were, talk of temperament, of voices, of acting, of types of interpretations. This La Saviozza is singing Butterfly next week, it will be interesting to go to hear her, knowing her, and to go to a rehearsal. She is a brilliant person, something of your type. She runs her home perfectly, adores her two boys, the solemn twenty year old University one with a great gift of silence, and the more mercurial Giorgi who is fourteen and works very hard at his school work. She works hard at her job, rehearses, teaches, learns and practises, and makes her traditional costumes, Lucia etc… She has a dizzy trade-life with the others of the guild and is gay as well. To have a son of twenty she is extraordinarily young and looks about your age, the best of all ages. She has dark eyes and a vivacious manner, pretty hands and a good smile. Knows no English but tries to help my Italian. Yesterday I asked her if she knew any English songs, most of them do and she said yes and sang, in a lovely voice, “This is the way we Brush. our hair, brush our hair, brush our hair,…this is the way we brush our hair, when we go to school in the morning” ! It was an astonishing event and shook me and gave me hysterics, of the nicest kind. She also uses one English word, “Manufactuary”. ‘Why, Gawd knows, You would or will love her. She is a Florentine, and Giorgio was born at Pisa (but has no distinctive lean) and her husband, a sober earnest railway engineer, is of Livorno, So they are Tuscans all. She exclaimed and purred over the picture of you and Dickie of course.

                        So there they are, and very refreshing after the life of the Mess. Oh, I may get posted specially to an Italian Cooperator company, and command three hundred Italians with a British Cadre, same set up as this outfit !!! Itts only an idea of the colonels but I said yes, it is quite a nice idea.

                        I think you’d bettor play for safety and address letters to me c/o H.Q., No. 5 Port Operating Group, R.E  C.M.F.

                        The box of sweets addressed to you and sent yesterday are really for you and Dickie fifty fifty. Tell him. And play fair the two of you. I sent one to Christopher.

                        There has been a dreadful dearth of letters from you, and yesterday there was an envelope with the very interesting Spears article in it, but no letter, Povero me. But I know its difficult and I know you are perhaps at Kettering> So long as all is well.

                        Bless you, dearest. All wags well here, and the unsettlement of this period will pass. Something new will speed the weeks.