Original Letter

France, 17th Jany. 1918.

My Dearest Mary:–

My poor letter that I wrote on the 15th came back to me last night – a wreck – it had fallen in the mud. I shall send it along herewith. Its too bad because its the one I told you about applying for leave and now you won’t know until I am there probably. I am getting pretty sure that my leave is going through now and I’m getting cocky no end. Last night I never went to sleep until nearly three o’clock and then it was only to camouflage a series of nightmares – missing trains failing to meet you not being able to find a puttee and various other agonies. About two o’clock Bobbie Forrest – who works night now – came in and when he discovered I had not been asleep he was positive that it was hunger that was keeping me awake. Away he went raiding and came back with tea and a sandwich. He and Turk loot all night and do themselves mighty well.

Charley Holmes was up last night and is going to arrange an outfit of clothes for me. I shall go and see him Saturday morning – I need everything new.

Positively a week from to-night should find me in Paris and probably sooner. Its intoxicating. I must make the very most of this fourteen days. I wish I could make it twenty eight days – who knows – I might get quarantined. You must keep your eye out for measle placards.

I had a letter last night from you ­ its a good war, isn’t it? You Sweetheart, I adore you every second, you are the most glorious Maidie in the world there is no one like you.

I had a letter also from Larry Powers. Do you remember my writing about him? He was gassed some time ago and went to Blighty. He is having a lovely time and writes just as amusingly as he talks.

My letters are getting awfully flat I know, but I absolutely can’t think of anything but going on leave – anyway I shall probably be with you when you get this and the ‘creeple’ of yesterday. Dearest, I love you, love you love you and I don’t see how I can wait a whole week to see you – it will be a year.

            Your own Ross