My  Dear  Wife   that   is  to  be  a  mother. . .

Another evening, and this time sitting in our room, Peter’s and mine, that you know, having had supper with Allan in his lonely state of a private room. He is a dear, and a charming Captain. The O.C. had an outburst with me this afternoon in his office, arising out of a letter from Harry, homesick for 1021. The O.C. said he wished I could have a Captaincy with him and run the administrative side, and deplored Jack. He’s got a real dislike of Jack, who is away on five days leave. He told me that Jack was bone lazy, dishonest, not straight, selfish, had no memory, no brain and no wits and was altogether a flop.  He is putting in an adverse report on him to the Colonel. He is a shrewd bloke,   and has noticed much it seems. I think he’s gone too far in his criticism and tried to even it out, but there we are. Such a confession!

I called at the Thom-Thoms after an hour or two in the office this   evening, and we sat around and talked of you, who she loves and admires more than anyone she has met and promises a great life for you. I had a private talk with James about going to bed, and at nine o’clock his mother told him to put his books away and to our astonishment he did, and went to his bath directly after supper and to bed, clean and so painfully virtuous, by half past. A great change. His shoulders will itch with the sprouting wings.

There are women in the Mess, hence us three in the bedroom in protest. The “lodgers” bring them in, awful creatures. We are going to protest  if the women come any more, call a Mess Meeting and have a ladies night   once a week. But the lodgers go tomorrow so it may be all right. Its a poor show, bad for the tone of the place, the Sappers get to know about it.

No letter from you this day which means two tomorrow. I didn’t telephone though sorely tempted so to do. I must be sensible. Bertha phoned and wants Peter and I to go to the ballet of Twelfth Night with her on Saturday, but its a matinee and we can’t get off in time, besides which Peter may not be back till late from his Inquest at Ripon. Poor Peter a sad affair, he shot a man at Ripon, on the Tommy Gun range, aiming at a tree high target in a ravine and   this instructor was in the line of fire, about a quarter of a mile away. He died the other day. So Peter has to go to the Inquest and give evidence and a Court of Inquiry. A grisly business, only a boy of twenty one, to have been married this month. Its horrible for Peter, but I think he sees now that it was absolutely an accident and that he’s not to blame anymore than the Tommy Gun.

I think if you constantly, and want to do things for you. Our child.     My dear.  Oh, a thought, a silence of a post or two will not mean that I’VE GONE anyhow for the next three weeks, so don’t let a slip of Postie’s cause you to quake and tremble. Has Peter Jeavons typewriter gone along? Thank you. What have you done the she sardine that was Albert.

Any news of anything?  Dearest heart, I do love you.

Ever your quite permanently devoted husband…