Original Letter

France, 18th Feb’y 1918.

My Dearest:–

There is ever so little interesting to write about to-day nothing exciting happening  no mail and in addition I ain’t feeling pretty well. I’ve had a stuffy feeling the last two days – too much foul air – so last night I took a huge hooker of salts. A little later on hot pea soup was issued. I am mad about it and drank some and was on the blink all night and don’t feel any too flip to-day. To-morrow we go back and I’m plenty pleased at the prospect.

Here it is beautiful weather – trop beau and I scarcely ever know whether its night or day – Thats the old kicking, eh? And here I have so many things to be thankful for – I’ll kick no more, jamais!

I didn’t tell you that no commissions are being given nor candidates for commission accepted for two months – it came out while I was away. It doesn’t make me feel very badly excepting that I should if I got a rap at it – run a chance of being with you in England for a few months – and that is more to be sought after than fine gold.

Every day I get surer that this war is soon going to be finished – I have modified my opinion a little since I saw you – that is there may be big fighting – even so I think that the end is very near.

I see that they are going to shoot Bolo. That is splendid but I hope that they can root out the whole rest of them – I am sure that he was only a tool – clay in the hands of someone much more wily and dangerous.

Dearest, I worship you to-day and just the mere act of writing you has made me feel worlds better. I have got lots to be thankful for. No one else has nearly so much to be glad over as I have. You are everything to me, Angel, all in all, and I love you with all my heart and soul.            À demain, Dear,

                        Your own

                                    Ross