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[Page 9]
1 September 1916
Dear Mrs. John Robertson
After my mail had been astray for a month, then put into a mud hole to soak for three days, I finally picked it up, slung down with my food in a dirty muddy trench.
Its been raining you see – nothing is dry, nothing is working, nil to drink except water (?), nothing is right, and really things are beginning to be bright & cheerful, and all is going against the Huns, who in due course will be properly sewn up, and of course we shall soon advance and mop him up.
Note the optimism – hope ever dormant in human beasts etc., - lovely sentiment.
But I musn't get carried away by my literary talent, to get back to where I started, Mrs. Robertson, the mail has brought me from you.
3 Letters
(What a gala day)!!!
In number (1) you started by saying you were in a bad temper, in (2) – peevish, (3) – staid, but in all of them I found you perfectly sweet.
Needless to say, I put on my Sunday 4th gear manners (I haven't got my Sunday suit), stood up to attention, saluted the letters and then read them.
(Incidentally, the bad tempered one, you had used more ink than usual in writing, and it had run a bit but it was all read in due course). How I must stop paying all these