Original Letter

            France. 23rd April.

My Own:-

I got two letters tonight and I am kicking over the traces with glee. They were both perfectly bright good letters – as all your letters are. I’ve been laughing away to myself over the thought of your tucking yourself in a parcel and coming up to me via post. My Dear, before you do it consider for instance the fact that our mail comes part way by mule and partly by tump-liner. You know how much profanity a mule provokes from the person detailed to direct their destinies? Well a mule skinner compared to a tump liner knows nothing of profanity, has not the vaguest conception of the first rudiments of blasphemy. So if you persist in your mad idea, Dear, and snap your fingers at the law that decrees that only five kilos may be carried in a parcel, and shut your eyes to the dangers which beset us here such as an attack from an infuriated high behind or finding a rat in bed along side one, you must at least put wax in your ears so that you may not be contaminated by the constant stream of profanity which accompanies our mail from the Transport Lines to B.H.Q. And there is one ph[r]ase too that worries me and perhaps I had better tell you – no, I shan’t – its too awful and I’d only get my mouth washed out with ashes.

Isn’t it great that Dian believes in the high behind. I never did expect to find anyone to believe my stories. If you will promise to truly believe them I will tell you some if you are good. And they will be perfectly respectable stories too. A young man of Fashion, indeed! Tut! tut! nice talk and quite wrong too, for I think that they have rationed it. I’ll say so. Ferris, I swear I don’t know what you mean. Liar! I know perfectly well. Maidie, I adore you and thats all there is to it. I harbour a great big surging wave of love for you to-day that would surely engulf you if you were here. You couldn’t cope with me at all. It is the kind of love that made me want to take me want to [sic] take you on my knee at the baseball game in Toronto (for instance) and kiss you that time in the station when neither of us was going away. Unconscious, you know, and just impelled by some huge force inside me that made the conscious part of me forget everything – time place, everything but that I was with the girl I loved. And that’s the way it is with me all the time, Sweetheart. So far as this war is concerned I may be swayed by patriotism or curiosity. I don’t know which. The only thing I am sure of is that I love Gods own girl the sweetest and best of women, my own Maidie.

            Ton mari

                        Ross