Original Letter


                        22nd Dec. 1917.

My Dearest Mary:–

This morning the sun is shining and outside it is like fairyland. We are in a chateau grounds and there are beautiful beech trees and shrubs. These are covered with frost and with the sun shining on them they make a picture. Through the trees I can see from the door a nymph or a Diana on a pedestal and divil the thing has she on – at least that I can see from here. I am quite sure that the man who made that statue never did intend her to stand exposed to cold such as we are having nor yet to the delighted stares of a lot of brutal and licentious soldiers. But she does not seem to mind so why should I worry? I ask you.

We all hope to be left here until after Christmas as it is probably less comfortable fo[r]ward than here. But counting chickens has gone out of fashion and anyway so far as I am concerned it makes no difference, as well there as here. There is only one place I really want to be and that is not anywhere about here. I want to be with you, Honeybud, toujours.

From reports at present is looks as if the Unionists had made a clean up in Canada. Tweedie is in and Alberta did not give a single seat to the Opposition nor Saskatchewan. Quebec of course, went solid for Laurier and I’m blowed if I don’t think that they are right. At least I have the vague consolation that I did not lose my vote. Well – go it you cripple, crutches are cheap. But – I hope that Quebec will take it quietly and behave properly. Turkey – who was born at Three Riverscurses the French Canadians copiously and fervently and hopes that every last measly ..... has to come over here.

Stuart Moore is back again from Blighty as gay as ever and quite the best body of a man I’ve seen in the Army. I was more pleased to see him than anything. He has three gold stripes on his arm and an M.C. and is the same old one and six.

Whatever is happening to my letters ­– here is another mail and damn all for me. I’m going to kick the pants off something about here and I expect that it will be the Mail Clerk and anyway he’s only a little runt – but that’s no reason why I shouldn’t get my mail regularly. Sometimes I just naturally can’t help thinking that this is a no good torn down sort of war. But always when I get sore like that I get three or four in a row and then I think that its best old struggle ever. Well – maybe it is – but.

I haven’t told you that I loved you to-day – I haven’t really told you that I love you since that morning of the 28th August when I did basely desert you – leave you and how you can love a man who runs off and leaves you and never does come back – why you are just the most wonderful long suffering forgiving girl that ever did grace this old world. And, Dearest, I love you love you – I just want to screech it and how I can stay here much longer without seeing you, I don’t know. I love you so and I need you so, Baby. I will just love you to pieces when I go to you and you will be very glad to see your permissionaire going back. If you dared to be – !

            Your own