1224/5 Shipworking Sections R.E. C.M.F.
No 219
Dearest,
The fattish sister lay on her back with her feet upwards with the feet of a ten-rung ladder balanced on them and the little sister, ten years old or so, climbed up the ladder to the top and did dangerous tricks up there. Really it was too much. It was an ENSA show, all Italian variety, two families of parents and children. They juggled and tumbled and trapezed and sang and had their own band. We do see Life here.
And in the morning I had seven Kurds who had refused to work to deal with, to punish and also to soothe and reform. Three years ago my hair would have risen at the thought. Fortunately the future is hidden from us in this life. Kurds have a way with them which is tricky. We have thirty of them and they are cosi-cosa about things.
My Sergeant with the amputated finger joint does go home tomorrow after three years and ten months overseas, he’s quite foolishly pleased and has a six year old daughter to see when he gets there and a wife he’s stoopid about, like I am.
Even if Dickie is famous he hasn’t much chance of being the famous son of a famous father.
I am not sure that I am pleased your Mother has returned to Great Alne; letters fall off always when she’s there! A difficult thing for me to forgive her. She keeps you sitting up by the fire when otherwise you’d be writing, I know. Still I’d do the same.
Yes I’ll get some combs as you describe and draw. I did send some last year I think. I’ll have a good hunt. No trouble; I like being able to send things. I’m being ever so clever in not buying things just now for the good of a frig, or a new house or a hut afterwards.
Tonight Spink and I (He’s my Orderly Room Sergeant) go to the Italian theatre to see Lucia di Lammermoor. Isn’t Rhoda mixing with handley naled folk in that wedding cutting you sent. I liked those cuttings. Mrs. Eastwood sends the Guardian now when we are in and today came the Spoon nonsense. Are you hard up for Things?
Noon is due any day with the pictures; Glory Be. Lanave is impatient to get started on his Minature: I might send you that. If I can spare it. I do need a picture of you as you are. How be Candy?
This is a disjointed letter because I’m disjointed, been quite a Day. Oh the odd collars, I don’t know. They were odd and were packing. Can’t Dickie wear them. I shan’t want khaki collars ever again I hope. I wear issue collared shirts now. Cheaper, Mean, me.
You and the Bish’s candlesticks! Poor Bishops candlesticks. It does get done a lot. Bless us all. I am looking forward to seeing you on the stage. Send me cuttings. Peggy – I remember her, looks and frock and you have her – having a baby. Copy cat. I remember now that she was married; but had to think a bit. Awful. Be a bit sporting otherwise, somehow a justification.
You are clever and your brains are plural.
Its going to be an extraordinary situation meeting Dickie for the first time. Odd, what is the approved drill for it. Bow or salute or ignore each other and look furtively? I’d like to know. He’ll have to set the pace, I’ll be too shy. Better keep me from him and let me infiltrate into has consciousness. He’ll have to notice me sooner or later. I can do the Lion quite well and can do handkerchief rabbits. That’s about the limit. Let me have some dimensions, even if only the draught figures (that’s shippiess) One does wonder about him, its a novel situation, I’ve never had a son before and have no idea of what they are like. You can’t imagine it. You could try. Shut your eyes; forget him, and open them; See, odd, isn’t it? A nice experience; though: Mother; the stoopid, has a bat and ball ready for us when we jointly visit. Hope its a good bat. Does he tend to spin bowling or fast length balls? Chris could start him off.
Gosh; it is bleak when there are no letters. The eighth was the last before that it was the 22 and then; going backwards; they were daily while your Mother was away. I’ll have her sent away again I think! But its difficult for you; and I am grateful for the quality and the quantity of the ones I do get. Maybe tomorrow Postie will oblige.
Have to go now. A very poor letter, but I mean well. I’ll write again tomorrow if there’s a letter in. D’you remember the letters when I wrote from Rosemary Cottage & you didn’t live there? Stoopid of us not to live together even then.
I am over fond I fear! But it just can’t be helped, Your fault entirely.
My love to you.
David.