Where shall we go, of course I’d choose north Devon
sea, country and air
but March raises the question of weather, might we go to a largish town, I prefer villages normally.
but with you I guess I’ll do what you want, also I feel that you’ll need looking after
don’t think you should walk around in the rain, not for a while
anyway, guess I don’t care where, as long as it’s the sea
and you, you, you. Inward clanging and bouncing and I wonder how soon.
You know I say to myself, 「Bessie my girl, you’re not so hot」
but I think you may have a similar feeling.
I say, how is your digestion, mine’s awful,
I shall be reduced to taking Rennin or something, a wind remover.
My tea at his moment is stuck somewhere in the middle of my chest.
I can’t help wishing that you won’t get these letters,
that you’ll be on your way, that the time to wait is that shot,
because my impatience is getting pretty bad,
being able to write like we have has been a wonderful thing,
but it has always remained only the beginning,
the contact for our future and a beginning must change to something else,
and now it is changing.
What do you think of the war news?
Don’t like getting too optimistic,
but wouldn’t it be wonderful to come home to stay?
I love you Bessie