Original Letter


                        12th February 1918.

My Own Dearest:­–

Its the twitching hour of noon and I am for the moment tout seul. Turkey went out this morning to the Transport Lines and Miller and I are treading the wine press alone. Miller is at present asleep on a very fine spring mattress in the corner. We are in a very fine cellar and have all the comforts of home. Major Keegan came back last night and Stuart Moore went back to his Company. Prescott went on leave a few days before I got back – or did I tell you that before? Anyway it doesn’t matter.

Its very comfortable here and the broth of a place for salvage. Turkey came home yesterday with a bath tub – joke –when you stop to think that one never has enough water to indulge in the luxury of two washes per day. But anyway Turkey reckons it some find. And our mattress is a God-send and I have dormi-d bien thereon. He found a perfectly good Singer sewing machine not broken the slightest bit – it has now passed into the keeping of our tailor. I am unfortunately placed being ‘on’ in the day time when it is impossible for me to get out although my soul yearns for a salvaging trip.

There is a general air of safety and stability about our quarters here that endeared them to me from the start.

Turkey salvaged a good plate yesterday and I had my lunch on a real plate to-day and equipped well with my combination knife, fork and spoon I made very fine practice. That implement has made me very much envied and has been the cause of many admiring remarks – naturally. The cleaning of it after use is more in the nature of a divine service than an ordinary every day scullery job. My dixie may be greasy and green but my knife, fork and spoon must be scrupulously, meticulously clean. My other knife too is in great demand and the idea of attaching a shoe lace to it has justified its self scores of times. I’m a spoiled kid. I have everything I want. Tu parle! I have everything I want but you – and I do not want anything or anyone else. I want you, Sweetheart, with a great big want. I can’t compare it with anything because it is incomparable. I thought that after my holiday I should be content for a little while anyway – instead it is, if possible worse than ever. Every thing I think of recalls to me something you said to me. The picture of you standing in the window at 10 Chateaubriand that night as I was going away is always in my mind. I realised that night, more acutely than ever, that I was awfully tired of this war and that duty – as I see it – can be a mighty disgusting prospect.

Everybody has asked after you, Major Parry included. Charley Holmes, of course, made himself solid with me forever by the nice things he said. Of course, I knew that he would do but even so – But you are a beautiful wonderful Sweetheart and everybody loves you – but nobody ever could love you a quarter so much as I. Do you know what I am thinking of this minute? The grand long tunnels coming in that night from Bernay and the wonderful kisses you gave me – of that and lots of other things, for everything is jumbled up in my mind. I haven’t been able to sort things out yet – only this that you are a wonderful Baby and that you did give me a beautiful time when I was on leave. I adore you Dearest.

            Your own