Original Letter

[This is scrawled across the top left corner of the page:]

I know that this is a mess of a letter but I’ve had so many interruptions.


            France, 13th Jan’y 1918.

My Sweetheart:–

I’ve been running around all morning – it is now ten thirty – trying to get a Pioneer to make a little frame for that scrumptious gorgeous letter I had from you last night. But I never could get a frame nice enough. Only a Sweetheart like you could write letters such as you write. Its no gift its a miracle. The mail was late last night and I was in bed when it came, but of course not dreaming of going to sleep. I read your letter dozens of times and loved every word of it. That little dream of yours about getting in under my tunic and the only suggested continuation the dream – well there must be something in those ‘Gong’ soup tablets. I shall have to cast about for an antidote – cold water is unable to cope with it.

The days go some way or other but slowly. To-morrow we move again and the next day the big application goes in. I am praying that every one who handles it may be in a receptive mood. It doesn’t say anything in the Bible about the prayers of the selfish, but I am afraid that if my prayers were the only argument in favour that I would be here a very long time.

Dearest, I’ve loved you for as many years as I have known you but I have never loved you as much as I do this bright January forenoon. I can’t sit still I am so much in love and so excited over the prospect of seeing you soon. I have been dodging about like a man in a fit toute la matinée. Its great.

I had a letter from Madame Netta hier soir and was pleased as punch about it. She’s all pep that blade. She thanked me for the pin – which certainly was not worth a letter. If I go by Paris and if you meet me there and if the paymaster will disgorge sufficiently I must get the odd cadeau for those people. I’d like to give them each a sea going yacht or a railway but probably shall be obliged to compromise on a thimble or a doyley or some foolish thing. That is where you will be there with the suggestion.

I had to stop at this juncture and make a candle – a simple matter – find an old tin can scrape up candle wax, get the string from a sandbag and there you are. When this was finished I had to make lunch for the tired business man and myself – Oxo and bread. He was very unappreciative to-day and when he had eaten his crust and drunk his share of Oxo he said – We’d better start getting our lunch from the cook again – we’re having a thin time starving to death”! At that I’m hungry already and I think that I shall slip round to “Smokey” our cook and try and raise something. To-morrow will be in that donjon keep again and Gosh! how I dread it. I am anxious about my kittens though – I am sure that they haven’t been looked after properly since we’ve been over here.

Here it is almost five o’clock and my letter not finished. I’ve fiddled away all the afternoon on this and that and have never had a chance to attend to the most important thing – the one important thing. What are you going to say to me, Dear? Are you going to say that you love me? If you aren’t I shall stuff my ears for I won’t listen to anything else.

That’s all I want to tell you, Dear, that’s all the news I shall have for you when I meet you. Is it stale will it bore you? You’d just better not let it. Your own Ross