Original Letter

            France.

                        13th Feby 1918.

 

My Dearest Sweetheart:–

‘Good mornage, Facteur’. Here is one to talk to you, Mary o’ mine, one who loves you and is most unusual dam’ unhappy when away from you. For I do not seem to get over the parting from you last Friday so very easily and I wish now that I had stayed until the next morning. Later on probably, it will be the glad part of my holiday that I shall remember, but just now it is the sad part – leaving you. But, you have troubles of your own.

It is mighty cosy here albeit very stuffy and inclined to be smelly but we can’t have everything. Personally I am more than willing to sacrifice light and fresh air for safety. We shift again in a day or so but that only makes it more interesting especially in a new place.

My book ‘Georges à Paris was more or less a flimmer. It seems to be one of a two or three book series – the middle one – and I don’t like it much anyway. It was very easy to read though with the help of my dictionnaire.

I don’t want to talk about a thing but you. I can’t think of anything else but you, Dearest. I have wondered hundreds of times in the last few days why I did not turn around at the corner on Chateaubriand and go back to you. God knows I wanted to and I have regretted ever since that I didn’t do it. But if I had I suppose that I would have been so worried over my wrongdoing that I would not have been a bit comfortable. Any man with a conscience should never work for the King – it is too exacting and gets into the blood.

I suppose that the facteur will bring you this while you are at lunch – well – do you know that I am far more homesick than I have ever been before in my life? Not sick for a home but for you. Why did you let me come back, Dear, there are lots of places there where you could have hidden me – sous le lit for preference – at least for second preference.

Dearest, I adore you with every tiny bit of me. Will you give me a little kiss at all, like the one you did give me in the tunnel?

            Your own

                        Ross