Original Letter


                        7th December 1917

My Own Dearest:

I had two of the most joyeuse letters to-day and I am bucked beyond recognition one would think that I never had got letters from you before. But I never shall get over that dizzy elated feeling that your letters always produce. And I enjoy your “tirades’ as you call them against things as they are. If there were only more people like you in the world it would be a much nicer more sensible place to live in and also a credit to the civilisation we boast of. Its a joke isn’t it? Stripped of a few conveniences such as the railway, telegraph the cinema and appendicitis our ‘civilisation’ is exactly what it was when people lived in caves and used clubs instead of the civilised grenade or Lewis gun. What is the matter with everything anyway. I wonder if after all the Bolshevics are right and the rest of the world are wrong? I am thinking now that perhaps they are. Their methods are so different to anything we have known  this doing away with every vestige of secrecy and letting every person in their country know exactly what they are being committed to – they want peace and they come right out in the open and ask for it. But at the same time I don’t think that we should do anything like that. I am not afraid to state my peace terms. Give France Alsace-Lorraine and I shall be quite satisfied. Its nothing to me who rules in Germany and any other little disputed points mean nothing to me but I certainly should hate to see France fail to get the long disputed provinces.

Well, there’s a bit of a tirade, if you come right down to it but sometimes I feel rather peeved about these things. You mustn’t think that your tirades incite me they should but they don’t. They are right, every word of it. Anyway nothing matters but just we two and the war is a crime because it keeps us apart. I want you, Dearest, and anything that keeps us apart – well. I can’t see much sense in it and I don’t care who knows it.

re old friend Interpret. There is one of these gents attached to each Unit and he arranges the billets for everyone – that’s his job his life work his profession and he knows where there is a room available if there is such a luxury. So why should I worry about looking? Our place here has not been shelled and is a very nice town. He has been here in the early days but only en passant he never was a fixture. But there are places not quite a hundred mils away. Some of them with a few people living in them that are bunged up and then some and I don’t suppose that it will be very long before we are back amongst them. They are very horrible and pitiful but fascinating, these partially ruined villages. And then beyond that again where are totally ruined some of them with not one brick standing on another. But its the broth of a place for salvage.

I read a little piece in an old copy of ‘Punch’ to-day. I am sending it on for your amusement. We did stay near a fine old castle. It was reputed to be one mentioned in “The Three Musketeers” but as it is so long since I read the book I couldn’t connect it up. Perhaps you remember the story. When the four made their dash for England one was cut off – perhaps it was Athos – in an old castle. The story goes that this was the absolutely selfsame castle. But—!

Dearest, I worship you to-day with every atom of me and I curse because I must sit here tamely and write you about it – and why shouldn’t I? To love and to be loved by the grandest sweetest girl in the world and not be with her – well, my philosophy can’t cope with it. Sweetest of Maidies, je t’adore.

            ton Ross