Original Letter

France.

                        March 10th 1918.

 

My Dearest Maidie:–

I am very worried about you, Dear, you mustn’t be ill or even off colour when I am not with you to look after you – cook for you, etc. And did I put you on the bum, really? did I, Baby? O lonely island in the Seine – no it couldn’t have been then it must have been the creaky couchette à numero dix. But I hope that long ages before you get this that you will be tout à fait better. It worries me, and very naturally, when you are sick.

We are for the road again in the morning, the long hard hilly highway and I am glad to be going. I have had good eats here and a good bed but I am never contented in these places. I much prefer the good old muck. I’ve been shining up my junk in order to look very smart on the road. Good soldier stuff.

Say, Dearest, I love you to-day. I am just pulsing with it. Every bit of it just thrills to you. I’ll be singing in a minute. I could bother you a lot to-day I imagine. They should give weekend leave in the Army. There are so many things they could do to make war attractive – but I do not think they care whether it is attractive or not.

I wonder if any of us will ever get out of the habit of clicking our heels and saluting. I think perhaps I could if I were given the opportunity. At present I have picked on September as the end but of course it may finish when I am on leave and then I won’t come back. In the meantime I am just going ahead hoping and honestly I think that the next four months will tell the tale – if they don’t – then I am thorough prophesying.

Do you love me to-day – even if I did put you on the bum? Please love me a lot for I am mad about you. You are an angel, Baby. There is no one to compare with you. Je t’aime.

            Your own

                        Ross