Original Letter

                                                            France

                                                                  2nd April, 1918

 

My Own Dearest:–

To-day is Bobbie Forrests birthday and we are going to have a picnic to-night before going to bed – make a dixie of cocoa. He has been on the hunt all day, nose to the ground well, trying to dig up some real substance to drink but without success. The idea of having a birthday without hooch disgusts Bobby and to-night he is fit to be tied. “This is a heluva war” (He pronounces it “wa˘r”) is only one of is remarks. He is awfully funny and keeps us amused. For a long time we had him for our own and all the running he did was in the night when something urgent would turn up. He looked after our stuff on the moves kept everything tidy and made fires. But lately he has been requisitioned as regular runner again but he still lives with us and in addition to his running still looks after us.

The weather is glorious – the day we landed here was the only bad day we have had for ages. I was out this evening for a mooch about with Holmes. It was just at sunset and it was a picture. This certainly is a country worth fighting for – evidently Fritz thinks so too. The pity is that no matter how thoroughly he is beaten he can never be made to suffer in proportion to the suffering he has caused. Villages towns and cities absolutely destroyed apart from the population.

I told Holmes the tale re Blanche. He, being a good Christian but slack in profession, cannot see why or how he is any kind of an outcast. Of course he understands quite and is not fussed any.

Turk is now six days overdue and we are beginning to think that he has been drafted into the handiest army. Miller and I are trying to picture him dressed in a horizon blue winning two sous a day with Foch.

You know, Dear, that I am mad about you to-day, just loving you every minute and wishing the minutes were longer so that I could love you more. You[’re] a wonderful Sweetheart and I want you always, and more to-day than ever.

                                                            Your own

                                                                  Ross