Original Letter

France

                        12th December 1917.

 

My Dearest Maidie:–

Mail came yesterday or rather late last night and for me it brought your letter with your good little flock of addresses and the odd little suggestion with each address. I was all tickled to pieces for I had decided that there would be no mail and when at the eleventh hour your letter came – well, I was elated beaucoup. A day without a letter is a desert, a mess, an agony but lately the mail has been quite regular. Praise the saints! It will not be very long before we are on our way again and because of the mail service being upset by it, I do dread it. In all other respects I like the shifts, new fields, new roads, new sights, the sounds never change very much. But everything is interesting even one’s damned old pack. And on the march you hear lots of witty remarks especially towards the end when everyone is getting tired. And one can get quite respectably tired on a march but a night’s sleep and its all forgotten. We have had a good rest from our wandering here and I for one am all ready to start over again. But I don’t want to start anywhere but to you. If I were walking to you my pack wouldn’t make any difference and I shouldn’t ever get tired but would just keep right on trudging until I got to you. That would be a march worth while.

It is raining to-day – a nice fine comforting kind of a rain. There is a fine big market less than a block away. I should love to go with you in the rain to that market. You with your raincoat and umbrella and one of those rainy day hats of yours (the kind I have in mind is one you used to wear long ago. I can’t describe it but the brim was pulled down on each side and was very becoming). We could mosey around the stalls and you would make lots of grand jokes and we would ask prices and get the nice polite answer from fat kind old ladies. I’m enchanted with the idea of our marketing now. And away over in one corner there is a little stall where they sell walnuts – mingy miserable walnuts, every second one a dud, but that wouldn’t matter, would it. But I didn’t finish the picture of us going to the market – I left myself out. But you needn’t think that I would be running along half a block in front of you or a hundred yards behind you. Mais, non! I’d be right well snuggled in under that parapluie – well. I reckon that I must waken up, or I shall be running amok. Some times I do get quiet carried away on some dream about you but of course, I can never put them – my dreams – into words. I love you, Maidie of all the world and I must keep on wanting you more each day I live. I crave for you, Dearest, and I can’t go on wanting much longer. I shall dash off to you one of these days. Will you be awfully glad to see me, Dear, like you were in Louviers? You had just better be that’s all. With all my love, Dearest.

            Your own

                        Ross