Original Letter

France, 18th Jan’y 1918

My Own Dearest:–

I always get a letter – I can’t remember a night when I didn’t and, my Dear, lately your letters are getting pretty snappy. Well, I mean to say that it keeps me hustling to keep my thoughts as continent as they should be. Anyway it did the night before last – I didn’t bother trying last night.

To-day we leave these quarters and we shan’t go in limousines either. But I’m looking forward to that walk in the mud and the dark. Of course, its not easy going, but there is always more humour than fatigue when the going is bad. They are great, these boys.

I am getting anxious about the parcel with the picture in it. It has[n’t] turned up yet and it was sent on the sixth. It will come, of course, but I want it before I go on leave. They are very casual with my mail, they are, and I resent it.

A very funny thing happened last night. Usually I don’t waken Turkey up for lunch ­– since we moved in here – but I get both suppers and waken him for supper. Last night I was busy and one of the runners brought my supper and I forgot Turkey. About half past eight Turkey hadn’t shown up so I went to investigate. Turk had wakened up and discovered that it was after eight and was just brooding over the fact the he had had neither lunch nor supper. He wanted to know if I was putting him on an enforced hunger strike. I was, of course, very sorry and rustled him a meal of sorts. Bobbie Forrest was asleep too but he didn’t blame me, and said to Turk “You can’t expect the Sergeant to remember everything, its them damned signallers’ fault”! He’s an artful devil, Bobbie, and no matter what happens he holds the Signallers responsible because once he lost his steel hat and found it in the Signaller’s dugout.

When we are in Turkey and I have by far the most to be envied jobs in the Battalion. Its just plumb couchy and we are always for staying in. This time though I am so very dirty that I am not a particle sorry to get back to get cleaned. Highwater marks are clearly defined on both arms and legs – and on my neck its very clear cut. And anyway staying in is pas bon for the balance of the troops. I shan’t miss much by going on leave – when I think it over I don’t believe that it would worry me much if I did.

Every plan is made for my leave even to the wire I must send you. Its great – its three o’clock in the afternoon of Friday – it will soon be Saturday and so on – but the last four days have been long – miles long. Right now I’ve got the nerve to expect to be away Tuesday or Wednesday and I don’t see why it should take so long as that. Will you be able to put up with me for fourteen days, think you Baby? Anyway you won’t have to tax your brain to think of ways to a amuse me – card games or musical chairs.

Dearest, I love you so much to-day that it hurts – I’m fairly throwing off sparks of love and my heart is going like trip-hammer. Poor little Maidie she’s in for a bad fourteen days. Ten chances to one I’ll be with you when you get this letter. Angel, I’m mad about you.

            Your mari

                        Ross

Photographs

dugout: dugout: dugout: dugout: dugout: dugout: dugout: dugout: dugout: dugout: