Thursday 13 September 1945, Marks Hall

1939-45 Star; Africa Star; Italy Star; France and Germany Star; War Medal 1939-45

 Sweetheart,
                 A less trusting husband might well be suspicious at your belated warning of the possibility of red hair in our offspring! Wasn't there a fortune-teller many years ago who foretold romance for you with a reddish fair man? However, since I'm quite sure there was no blond gentleman in the vicinity during my disembarkation leave, I can accept your explanation in the spirit in which it was offered, and merely express my hope that the genes responsible for great-grandpa Crane's* red whiskers have now lost their potency.

                 Having the divan in your bedroom for me is an excellent idea although if, as Kate thinks, you are punctual in delivering the goods, you'll probably be in the nursing-home as soon as I arrive. What is the position? I'll probably stay on at 155 when you leave - that is if they'll have me.

Africa Star with North Africa 1942-42 clasp

                 I told you about ribbons in my last letter. I've got the '39-45, Africa Star and Italian ribbon but I can't lay my hands on the France and Germany ribbon. I believe it has all been sent over to the B.L.A. If I had known Cliff was coming over, I might have asked him to get me a piece. I don't, of course, qualify for the defence medal. As I tell my friends (who are all wearing it), I was never long enough in a non-operational area to win such a sedentary award.

               As you suggest, the possibility of attending a christening during my December leave never entered my innocent head. I suppose the family will be all in favour of a church ceremony. If so, I'm willing to participate. After all, as at a wedding, the man takes a very small and apologetic part and at some future time, the front pew will be occupied by a test-tube or hypodermic syringe.

             The idea of being 'welcomed home' by Broomhill Church is enough to make one volunteer for further service and I certainly will not attend any celebration for discharged heroes. And talking of further service, quite a surprising number of men are asking for postponement of release at the very last minute. The are all of course people with no jobs to go to, and the prospect of being thrown into a chaotic labour market frightens them.

              I had a letter from Griffiths yesterday. He is rather disgruntled at his environment and finds his former cronies, with their petty worried, narrow outlook and complete lack of interest in the past or future, extremely boring. He hopes to feel better once he starts working.

             It is true enough I think that Service people, who have seen some of the devastation in Europe, take a wider view of the present situation than some civilians for whom the war really ceased when bombs stopped dropping round their ears.

            Dearest, I'm delighted to hear that you are still feeling so astonishingly well and I'm sure it is a good omen both for your future and the child's. It won't be long now till I see you and I'm counting the days.
...

* The Crane family were cousins of MRF.               

Friday 24th August 1945, Marks Hall

Margaret darling,
                         This morning's newspapers have thrown a great gloom over Marks Hall and I should think over all service establishments. After all the encouraging 'semi-official' forecasts of last week, we are now told that there is to be no acceleration in release and the scheme in fact will work at the same rate as was originally planned months ago.

                          I can see the Govt's policy: they intend to resettle all the munition workers before releasing large numbers of of servicemen and from the point of view of avoiding unemployment, it is probably a wise plan. But this alternate raising and shattering of hopes is having rather a wearing effect on men's nerves.

                          The RAF have been putting on quite a spurt in the last few weeks and Griffiths, who is group 19, has been ordered to report at the demob-centre on Sept. 1st. I'll be very surprised if they release only three or four groups in the C.& C. branch between Sept. and the end of the year, and yet that is what is implied in today's Ministry of Labour announcement. We can only await the event, and for myself I am not going to worry about it. I'll fill in my time as well as I can with reading and study and I know that very soon you'll have plenty to keep you fully occupied.

                          Your letter of Wednesday came by yesterday evening's post. I pass over in offended silence your remarks about my shaky writing and pass on to the important matter of my leave. What do you think of making my leave period from 29th Sept. to 9th Oct? And of course as usual, I would try to travel north two days before the official start of my leave. I'd be in Glasgow for the 28th and as you're more likely to be late than early*, I think that is the best arrangement. Please confirm, or make alternative suggestions.

                          Five weeks today I should be on leave - and may be pacing the floor of Redlands, an object of sympathy or derision to all around. Actually I am quite confident that you will cope with the situation in your usual competent manner and though you may fittingly retort that I am being amazingly philosophic about your strenuous exertions, I can't help feeling that you have everything in your favour including a remarkably good set of  nerves. And dear heart, you'll be supported by most intense prayers to my own particular God, who is none the less potent because he is impersonal.

                         From the tone of your letters, you don't seem to be at all bored by your curtailed activity and I hope you are still keeping well and free from heartburn. It will soon be Sunday night again, and another week will be shoved into the Limbo. Till then, sweetheart, cheerio, and all my love ...


*The baby was in fact born on Sunday 30th September.

Sunday 5 August 1945, Marks Hall

My own,
              I have been rather longer in writing than usual since I discovered that there was no postal lift here on Saturday or today. The reason is Bank Holiday, which has half-emptied the unit of all those lucky enough to be fairly near home. I expect that this weekend, the frenzy at the railway stations will rise to a climax.

1948 Rover - gives an idea ...

              The last few days have been extremely warm but as I write (evening), a terrific thunderstorm is in progress which my bring some relief. I only hope it does not damage telephonic communication before I put through my call. Our tin huts have been most unpleasant during the heat. Fortunately, I have been able to escape most afternoons and go for a run with Griffiths in his car. It's a fine large Rover and suits my taste for expensive motoring. Yesterday we visited western Suffolk passing through Sudbury and having tea at a pretty little place called Bures. The whole landscape is rather burnt-looking after the great heat, and there are numerous indications of a very good harvest. This rich landscape dotted with villages, market towns, picturesque old churches, and timbered pubs, is attractive in a sleepy complacent way which is well matched by the characteristics of the easy-going natives. But it does not appeal greatly to me and most of the time I am travelling mainly to keep cool.

             One laudable fact is that casual meals are cheap and good at the countless cafes, small restaurants and pubs which seem to exist for no clear reason, since very little tourist traffic ever ventures into the network of narrow twisting lanes which provide the communications in these parts. Yesterday three of us had an excellent meal with eggs and unlimited tea, bread, butter and home-made jam for four shillings.

           I received your letter last Wednesday on Friday evening. Your description of the house is rather surprising: one does not expect to find a museum of Victorian internal decoration housed in a modern bungalow. However I am glad the garden is satisfactory and if your heatwave has continued, you'll have found it very useful. I wish I could join you in a pilgrimage to Boclair Road. We had some very pleasant walks and serious conversations there, and we also consumed a good deal of Barker and Dobson's grapefruit chocolate which we used to get in a shop opposite the station.

           The station library has been revivified by some new books, among them Long Range Desert Group, which I am now enjoying. I wonder if the flood of painstaking historical books about Desert Warfare will militate against the appearance of an imaginative work on the same subject? I expect it will, because people are now tiresomely familiar with the whole story. But one can't help feeling that in the completeness of the various actions and in the psychological intensity which men develop there, the Desert offers plenty of material for a great story.

          I wrote to Mary yesterday thanking her for the invitations transmitted via you but saying that I want to look after my interests here at present. I also touched gracefully on the things that she has sent you.

        I am hoping to hear you tonight and to get a letter from you some time tomorrow. I am glad to hear you are keeping well and looking after yourself. Continue to do so ...

Tuesday 17 April, 1945, Marks Hall

My darling,
                  I was rather perturbed on Sunday to hear that you were not feeling too well and hope that long before you get this, you'll have completely recovered. I suppose the uncertain weather you have been experiencing in the northern latitudes is liable to induce chills. Do take care of yourself and stay off school if you don't feel completely fit.

                 Your letter of last Friday arrived on Monday and today a much be-labelled, superscribed and countersigned envelope arrived containing the missing Fintry letter. And let me tell you right away that you must apologise to the manes of the Fintry post-mistress. Curiosity prompted me to remove the numerous labels and I discovered that the address as put down by wee Maggie was "R.A.F. near Colchester". Once before you made the same mistake - on one side of Merchant Adventurers - and it delayed the arrival of that book by several days. So I prithee darling, don't forget to include "Marks Hall" when you address me.

                 Needless to say your appealing description of the Murrays' plight makes me feel an awful beast for the surly reaction which surprise provoked in me. Please forget it.*

                 Last night beheld our oyster and Guinness revels. I don't think I would ever rave about oysters though at the end of a dozen, and under tuition in the correct manner of letting them linger in the gullet, I began to perceive quite a pleasant flavour. The party was very well organised in a nice little hotel in Braintree - the oysters were all ready for us, opened, garnished with lemon and seasoned with vinegar and paprika. Some fourteen of us accounted for 300 of the quaint creatures.

                As for the Guinness side of it, the drinking was on what I should call a very moderate scale though several men showed signs of wear. I think I must have learned my drinking in a hared school. But far be it from me to boast.

               Tomorrow I am going to London to book my sleeper. If we can get a room, Griffiths and I will stay the night: it's rather a rush getting there and back in one day. But I am not very hopeful as London is  apparently packed with people waiting to celebrate V-day.

             I'm sure Marion is perfectly nauseating about Paul's hardships. If she ever starts recounting any of them to me, I'm going to slap her right down. It's a bit late in the war for that kind of thing even though it is only now penetrating Marion's consciousness. Her only contact with reality seems to be via her relations and a thing does not exist for M until it happens to her husband of one of her endless cousins. It's a strange kind of idealism which, I'm sure, Berkeley never thought of.

             You seem to be having quite a lively time with Spaniards and Frenchmen, and I hope the margarine position has improved before I come home. I'm looking forward immensely to this leave but don't be alarmed at the prospect of being crushed under the weight of my affection. ... You can always have a bucket of cold water at hand in the bedroom.

           By the way, I'm sorry I have no medical friends likely to be able to help me. The only doctors I know came straight into the RAF from college. And, quaintly enough, very few RAF types have given birth to anything in a literal sense!

            A truce to this bawdry. I'm keeping very well in spite of really phenomenal heat and the annoyance caused by unsuitable clothes. I'm hoping to find you in the best of health and anticipating the happiest of times in your dear company.

*Note: There is only one letter for the whole of April - hence the gap in posting. The most likely explanation seems to be that Margaret Findlay was staying in Fintry during the first half of the month, and that letters sent directly there did not return with her to Glasgow. Whatever the Murrays did is presumably lost with them.

Saturday 10 March 1945, Marks Hall

My dear
             It was very thoughtful of you to write me a letter on Thursday which would help to carry me over the weekend. It arrived this morning. It is a beautiful picture you draw of your placid self ruminating over a cup of hot milk before going to bed with Hardy. I am very pleased to hear that you are taking this wise passivity so seriously.

             I envy you having all the old favourite books at hand. I have read just about all I want to read of the library here: the remainder consists of books that no-one could ever read even on a desert island. The charm about re-reading the classics is that you know you won't be disappointed and your relish for the good bits seems to grow with familiarity.

             At present I am picking my way through Memoirs of a Mountaineer by F. Spencer Chapman. In addition to doing a lot of Himalayan climbing he went as a member of a British diplomatic mission to Lhasa. But in spite of all the interesting things he saw and did in Tibet, his book makes dull reading except when he deals with the rigours of his climbing. The only really gripping passages describe hours spent on icy windswept ridges or long nights in freezing bivouacs at 23000 feet. Modern writers about mountains are inclined to jeer at the pompous style assumed by some of their Victorian predecessors like Tyndall and Wills. But the latter, with all their obvious faults, had an instinct for drama which the modern writers, more restrained in their feelings or possibly more truthful, lack completely. I like to read the pompous and grandiose thoughts which the Victorians ascribed to themselves on completing a difficult climb, even though at the time they probably thought on nothing but bursting lungs and hearts.

                                                                                                                                   Sunday


             I am continuing this at the astonishing hour of 6am. I have been on night duty; have done some work, had a little sleep and I am now looking forward to breakfast and then more sleep in my billet. It's amazing how hungry one gets during the night in spite of sandwiches which the Mess provides. ...
Meanwhile you will be doing your azure-lidded act for another three hours at least. But instead of the candied quince and other delicacies which Keats imagined near his sleeping beauty, you'll have an odd pint or two of certified on your table, or a box of vitamin tablets.

                                                                                                                                    5 hours later

            I have had breakfast and a short snooze and now I want to finish this note for the mid-day post. Last night I started reading O Absalom by Howard Spring. One of the men in the billet brought it in and with vague recollections of some sexy passages in Shabby Tiger, I grabbed the book. However it is very disappointing, full of slushy sentiment by Irish characters who all talk like Deirdre of the Sorrows. The Irish are tolerable when they are light-hearted but when they start wailing in their Celtic Twilight, I've had it.

           Note incidentally how that beautiful RAF phrase lends itself to the periodic construction of sentences. And while on this subject, I've discovered another failing of mine: Fowler speaks slightingly of the persons who in handwriting, "are well content if they get a dot in somewhere within measurable distance of its 'i'".

          I am looking forward to hearing you again tonight: it's lovely how the weeks are slipping past. Please continue to lead the life of a beautiful vegetable. I'm sure it must be doing you a lot of good after your too busy life in recent years. And you can ask yourself how many children we should need to have to make it worth your while standing in queue at the post office each week to collect the State's benison on your fertility.

          Sweetheart, this letter is more nonsensical than usual. .... I hope you will keep well from now on. Just be as selfish and indulgent as you like.

Tuesday 27 February 1945, Mark's Hall

Thurber drawing

My darling,
                  It is now 11.30am and I have just got out of bed. I was on night watch and had a fair amount to do, so when I came off duty I had a couple of hours' rest. I intend to finish this in time to catch the one o'clock post.

                 We have been quite busy recently and it makes a pleasant change. I hope this continues. Meanwhile the was shows signs of interesting developments. From this morning's news it seems as if the German resistance is rather feeble in some parts and Cologne (or its remains) should be under shellfire soon.

                Your letter of Feb. 24th arrived yesterday. The news of your being sick after getting back from the panto is worrying. I've never heard of anyone being literally sick with laughter before. Also on Sunday you said you were feeling tired o'nights. Both these facts compel me to reiterate that you must give up school at once if these symptoms continue. Why should you struggle with fatigue at night and sickness in the morning, when you could be coddling yourself at home? Of course this may be a mere passing phase and you may enter into a period of blooming health, but darling, please be guided by your own feelings and don't let any ridiculous motives keep dragging you out to school. As I said before, you have done far more than your share of hard work and deserve a little leisure now. I'll be enormously pleased when I get a letter telling me that you have told the Corp. to put their job where the monkey put the nuts.

                 My reading just now - God help me - is Naomi Jacob's Private Gollantz. It's complete rubbish. I can['t] stand her intense, arty and perfectly humourless Jews. I have also been reading Parody Party which contains some clever and cruel parodies of Chas Morgan, Dorothy Sayers, Somerset Maugham and others.

                 Thanks for sending on Blakeney's letter. It was a wild demand for an answer to his previous one. I am now wondering what happened to the previous letter I sent him since it also contained photographs. I think I had better write him an airletter explaining the whole position and asking him to make it clear to the Plumiers why they can't have any photos just now. I certainly don't feel like applying for an exporter's license and or whatever is needed merely to send half-a-dozen snaps.

                 I am having an awful time just now with Gee, the fellow in my hut whom I described before. He is a Thurber fan and when I confessed rashly enough that I don't think Thurber very funny he took my remark as some modern form of blasphemy and has been labouring hard for my conversion ever since. He leeps bringing in Thurber books and shoving them under my nose saying "Look at that - don't you think that's funny" and so on. I have to laugh sometimes - at him, for the drawings invariably throw him into hysterics. Tell me honestly, do you like Thurber's drawing? I'm getting really worried about myself.

               I'll need to stop now if I want to get this letter away today. .... Please look after yourself. Glad to hear you have completed the bed booking arrangements. All my love ...

Thursday 22 February 1945, Marks Hall

Mark's Hall from the air

My sweetheart
                     I hope I have got the day right this time. It says a good deal for the complete monotony of my life here that even with the assistance of newspapers I never know what day of the week it is.
                  
                    I have two letters of yours to acknowledge, dated 18th and 20th. How dare you develop a stye as soon as my back is turned. The sooner you are out of school and pampering yourself at home, the better. I hope the wretched thing has cleared up now.

                   I have been wondering about your visit to Kate yesterday. I very nearly phoned at night but decided you would not want to shout such intimacies over four hundred miles of wire. So I'll just have to wait patiently for another letter to tell me whether or not we are going into production this time.*

                   Thanks for sending me Annie's letter. Her last letter to me must still be wandering round the Med. She is full of enthusiasm for her job at the Girls' High and judging by the timetable she has been given, they seem to appreciate her value. I contemplate her career with some self-gratulation [sic] rare in me and I'm longing to meet her mother again and recall the embittered fights we had over Annie's future. [This was a former pupil whose mother wanted her to get a job rather than go to University] Genetically speaking that girl is a mystery - unless there was a mute inglorious Jutson among her more remote ancestors.

                 I'm still reading far too much and with a lack of discrimination imposed on me by the library. The founder of this must have been a Compton Mac fan. I have just finished Sinister Street which I liked better than some of his others. It has some rather acute studies of childhood and adolescence but is far too longwinded. I liked Burmese Days - a nice brutal, incisive study. When my head begins to swim with too much fiction I sit down to Fowler's King's English and summarise some parts likely to be useful to me in the future. Occasionally I do some work.

                One of our men here has just got his ticket on medical grounds. I envy him his freedom though not his stomach. Just imagine the joy of leaving the RAF for ever. There have been times in the past when I would have voiced more noble sentiments and begged for the privilege of being allowed to finish the job. But now I just want to settle down with you - and anyone else who happens to come along.

                This released man is from Glasgow, is named Drummond and, as I have just discovered, used to work in the Central Agency. He knows my second cousins Charles and Jo Cassells - in which he has the advantage over me, for I would recognise neither.

               Don't bother to send on Merchant Adventurers. Good books are apt to get damaged in the post, so just lay it aside for our new book case. I shall however be delighted to receive any Penguins which your good taste selects. They will make a happy addition to the library here when I have read them.

                There is quite a stir in Parliament just now about teachers' salaries. In one way this levelling process is a good thing: it may make for unity and concerted action in the future. If however the slight differentiation in salaries leads to a falling off in the numbers of graduates and honours graduates, then changes will have to be made. Naturally I feel some financial reward is due to the more highly qualified teacher but quite honestly I think few secondary teachers would exchange their jobs with the slum school elementary teachers, even on level salaries.

                 I didn't realise G_____ was growing to such enormous breadths. Poor George will need a rope and a set of climbing irons before he can get busy - with the ever-present danger of breaking his neck if he falls off. I wonder how she would get on with her 'stoutness' on North Goatfell now? As for "nappy talk", if the future brings what we hope, I can see you having to snibben G_____ pretty sharply for the nones. Otherwise you'll be overwhelmed. I'm afraid maternity went with a rush to G____'s humourless head. Your friend Eden T. sounds as if she has a more detached viewpoint on the subject.

               Nothing of note has happened with me. I have been definitely posted here and look like staying for some time, though of course appearances of permanence don't count for much in the service. My general health is excellent. I hope you have not more of these little physical ills which are so damned annoying when you have to teach. I'm looking forward with great eagerness to your next letter ........

*Presumably the news awaited was confirmation of the already suspected pregnancy. 

Thursday 16 February 1945, Colchester, Essex

The clock to which the key was hidden.

My darling
                 Another mild day but spoiled, like yesterday, by heavy mist morning and evening. This seems to be a characteristic of Essex in winter and it is an unpleasant one as everything drips with moisture. But for a few hours in the afternoon we got a promise of finer weather.

...

                 I'm reading Vestal Fire by Compton McK - another of his silly books about the Salernian Gulf, full of roseate descriptions and extremely old-fashioned naughtiness. He is really very dull and fit only to be read in rural Essex. I've also started Grierson's book which is very good indeed.

                 I wonder frequently about your health and hope you are not having too bad a time with your matutinal malady.* Don't hesitate to give up school at once if you feel like it. I'll be much easier in mind once you have resigned the academic life for one of fruitful leisure. I only wish I was constantly by you to look after your health and coax your morning appetite.

                 I hope you posted my package to Mlle Gilberte. I have still to write to the love-lorn Blakeney but I am convinced that by this time any counsel of moderation will be useless. He is assuredly forswunk. [sic] Do you think I am in any way responsible for his infidelity? Had I written earlier I might have saved him. And if I had remained in France I should have stood between him and his danger.

                 To my delight, on coming in for tea I found a letter from you. It is headed Feb.15th but from internal evidence it appears to have been written on the evening of the 14th. I am very glad to get it especially as I did not expect anything until tomorrow.

                 I'm glad you found the safe key. I must apologise for secreting it in your purse after receiving it from you. It's the same kind of prank that I played with that postal order. You have only to discover now where I've hidden the clock key.

                 Life still seems atrociously dull after that wonderful leave. Like you, I'm no longer satisfied with merely being at home, ie in U.K.  I want to be living with you in our own house - the only thing that really seems worth-while. The simplest pleasures are multiplied in your company. Reading with you, eating with you, seeing pictures in your company and even helping you with washing-up are all actively delightful. ...

                Look after yourself with extraordinary care .... Regards to Mrs B.

* Presumably on that last leave DF had become aware of the coming into existence of the current blogger - though I cannot think that the Mrs B referred to at the end is she! 

Wednesday 14 February 1945, Colchester

My darling
                  Back once again in my little tin hut. It is a heavy change after nine glorious days (and nights) of happiness and enjoyment but I expect I'll soon get accustomed to my bondage again. [Presumably the hoped-for leave had materialised successfully]


                  My journey was very pleasant. The train was late and did not get into London till after nine o'clock. If I had been sitting in cramped misery that would have been most trying for me but as it was, it simply meant a nice long sleep. I had breakfast in Euston and then decided to take the 11.10 from Liverpool Street. This got me to Kelvedon at 12.45 and on emerging from the station I found the same taxi that took me to the station 10 days ago. The driver looked as if he had been slumbering there ever since and in this somnolent neighbourhood I believe such a thing is quite possible. This providential taxi enabled me to get to the Mess in time for lunch.

                 Your food was very welcome. I ate all the sandwiches and cake but not the biscuits. However the latter will keep and will be very welcome for the odd spasm of hunger during the day.

                 Today is simply glorious and at midday it was really summerlike. I hope you had the same kind of weather in Glasgow. The past week has been very wet here, I'm told, and they had one very heavy fall of wet snow while I was away. I hope it stays mild and fair now for though weather doesn't really matter at all on leave, it makes a great difference to one's spirits and comfort under our present conditions.

                  During my absence thick linoleum has been laid on the concrete floor of our hut so the place is much less prison-like. It still looks rather grim after our lovely drawing room and the camp armchair I'm sitting on is a miserable substitute for the armchairs I've recently been lolling in. However I'll get used to these changes.
.....

                 Davis, one of my hut mates, has just bought a bicycle and is at present exploring the country on it. I might feel tempted to follow his example except for the fact that at bike would be utterly useless to me later on.

                 The feel of my stubbly chin reminds me that I must shave before dinner. I'll post this tonight in the hope that you will get it on Saturday. I hope your return to school wasn't too distasteful.* At any rate you have not much longer to go in that arduous profession. Take all possible care of yourself ...



* Did teachers, I wonder, get time off work if their husband was home on leave? It sounds like it. And although his wife did indeed give up teaching for some years, she returned to the job in the late'50s and went on teaching primary children till she was 65.

 

              

Wednesday 31 January 1945, Marks Hall

My darling
                 As I write the blessed rain is pouring down, washing away the remains of what I hope is the last snowstorm of the winter. It started on Monday night and was an exceptionally heavy fall. But the thaw came soon after and now we have the welcome rain. It's grand to feel the soft air again and to be able to rise in the morning without undergoing agonies.

                I hope the pipes remained unfrozen. They must be a great worry and inconvenience to you especially when they involve your sleeping in a cold deserted house. I rexpect the thaw has now relieved you of any further apprehension.

                 Your letter of 26th Jan arrived on Monday and I am half hoping for another one today. Your mail really comes through very well. I was sorry to hear that you had destroyed an old letter of yours which came back after its wanderings but I was comforted yesterday by a large batch of ancient re-addressed mail including two of your letters, two of your father's and one of Jean's [sister-in-law]. Your letters were the ones you wrote when it began to be reasonably certain that I was coming home and I am glad to be re-assured even at this late date that I was not unwelcome. You've no idea how I missed these letters at the time. There was I despatching what I hoped were faintly exciting tidings and getting never a word in reply.

                 At present I am trying to wangle some leave next week. I would not mention it at all before it is certain but for the fact that a little advance information may prevent you from dating yourself up with any children's parties or flute blowing evenings. It may perhaps seem early to be taking leave but since one never knows what the future may bring, one is better to close one's fingers over the bird. I'd be furious if I hoarded my leave and then found that circumstances forestalled me. Of course permission has not been granted yet and may not be given at all. But if all goes well I hope to get to Glasgow either late on the evening of Monday 5th Feb. or early on the morning of Tuesday 6th. I would be departing on the evening of Tuesday 13th so I would have a full week at home.

                I'll let you know definitely on Sunday evening. Meanwhile keep your fingers crossed ducky. If my visit should clash with the painters it is just too bad. I had to pick my provisional dates some time ago and I chose what I thought was likely to be the best time. Personally I should think that if the gentlemen haven't come by the end of this week, they are busy on another job. But above all remember my leave is not yet fixed definitely.

                I was sorry to hear on Sunday that your father had caught a cold at your aunt's funeral. I don't know why it is that funerals always seem to take place in the coldest and wettest weather. I hope he is better now: at least he doesn't need to struggle out to school now in a half-cured condition.* I am delighted to hear that your throat is nearly better. Please try to avoid any further illnesses. You sounded very bright and chirpy last Sunday in spite of the fact that you were going to venture out into the cold at that late hour.

                I'm still leading a leisurely life and reading more than I've done for a long time. Yesterday it was Hervey Allen's Bedford Valley - quite readable unsophisticated stuff.

                The war gets visibly nearer to its end every day. I'm afraid it's going to be necessary to hack Germany into little pieces, but even that should not take long. There are signs also of the Western Front wakening up.

                I want this to catch today's post so cheerio. Don't build up too definite hopes on my leave just yet but I'm praying hard that that should avail much. I'm longing to see you again ...

*DF's father-in-law had been a Primary School head. In fact, only one member of that family was not engaged in teaching.