Original Letter

            France.

                        16th April 1918

My Dearest:–

There wasn’t any mail to-day so I don’t think very much of things – in a letterless daze as it were – you see how I must feel when I pull one like that. And I am dreadfully worried too for your birthday approaches and I haven’t a chance of getting you anything and besides I have got twisted and can’t remember whether you are – or will be – 26 on the 25th or 25 on the 26th. Isn’t it shameful of me, isn’t it? [sic] One of these days, I am sure you will get fed up on receiving regrets instead of present on important anniversaries and haul off and tell me something. Why don’t you, dear, it would do me a world of good.

We move tonight but alas! its a poor kind of a move – far too short, why, I could throw a stone from here to the place we are going to. And the good visions I had conjured up of a bath and change of clothes not to mention seeing the Paymaster with a view to reducing my credit balance! Its all rot [?] kicking, you know, because it doesn’t matter a particle to me where I am – in or out – there is only one place I want to be and I am not there so why worry. In or out – as a combination it would be attractive – combien fois – go on and ask me.

I have been disturbed fifty times I think since I started this letter. This particular corner of the dugout is very tiny but every one must needs be in it and writing is sometimes difficult. I am getting to be a proper grouser and must stop it. I have 101 days to cure myself in and I hope to surprise you when I go on leave – you like surprises don’t you?

When I think of marking time for 101 days it makes me wild. I want to rush madly out and stop the war. For honestly I do not see how I can wait so long to see you – I do not see how I can wait any longer – I’m flint. I must be or I couldn’t stand it. Every minute I want to fly to you and rush into your arms and forget everything but our love. I adore you, Sweetheart, and I could never be the slightest bit happy anywhere without you.

            Your own

                        Ross

Photographs

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