Monday, September 5, 2011

Wednesday (morning) 5th Sept. 1945, Marks Hall

My darling,
                 It's a beastly morning and our little tin hut is damp and miserable. The weather has been really abominable fro the past three days and unfortunately we are denied the comfort of a fire in our hut until some quite arbitrary date in mid-October - by which time we shall doubtless be experiencing a belated heat-wave. Meanwhile the rain is pouring down and a fierce wind is trying to uproot our hut. Lucky Griffiths, sitting by his own fireside on a day like this.

                 The little blighter departed early on Monday morning after a colossal final party on Sunday night. He had a full car, with his wife, two boys, all their luggage, and a beautiful large golden retriever which he bought from a game-keeper on a pub some weeks ago. I maintain that he does not remember making the purchase. He was certainly wondering the following day how he was going to feed the animal which has so far been nourished on a diet of goat's milk and rabbits. But his boys were crazy about it, so by this time, the pup will be in Barry and barking in Welsh.

                  Meanwhile I've settled down once more to a life either studious or somnolent according to my mood. Child, another of the cypher officers, has presented me with a large loose-leaf notebook which he doesn't want, and my passion for virgin paper has led me to make quite a lot of history notes in the last few days.

                I suppose you listened to Mr Attlee's speech. It was a dreary performance and gave me no consolation whatever. Of course the Minister of Labour may issue some more encouraging figures soon. Meanwhile a big acceleration in Class B release seems to be the chief aim. The so-called improvement in the conditions of these special releases really amounts to nothing at all, as a class B release still loses 35 days pay and allowances, which always has been the rub. Still, if the offer came along in the next few weeks, I might be tempted to accept, considering the slowness with which normal release is proceeding.

               I've had nothing from you since last Saturday and am quite determined that there shall be a letter awaiting me at lunch-time today. Meanwhile, I hope you are still keeping extremely well. My health is excellent and in spite of the rather gloomy opening paragraph, my spirits are reasonably high. They'll keep mounting during the next three weeks as my leave draws closer. It will be a full three months since I saw you last and I'm hoping that we won't have as long an interval again. I intend to take my next leave rather early in the period - say about the beginning of December - so that I can be sure of getting it in before I'm demobbed.

              Dear, other men whose wives are in your interesting condition seem to be worried out of their wits by tantrums, vapours, threatened nervous breakdowns and God knows what. Once again, as when I was overseas, I realise how lucky I am in having a wife with such a beautifully calm sough - whatever that may be. So far you have carried the affair off with quite primitive aplomb and I'm sure you'll continue to do so. Keep well, pamper yourself shamelessly, spare yourself nothing and, if you can still project your thoughts beyond your wame, remember I love you dearly.


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