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Bridstow General 12th January, 1940 Bridstow Ralph, The post finally got through last night. I think anything that is not a trunk call or a telegram is slightly bel somewhat lower in the list, if you know what I mean. just left to rot in a bog until they have time for it. I am gl I am glad you’ve had good sailing. Calcutta must be ghastly beastly hot even now. Honestly my dear, if half of what you are not r writing holds, I have a mad urge to pull you by the collar and chock-fill you with penicillin. I don’t mean to sound like such a prig, (and I am know your love for ‘larks’), but I do earnestly hope this is the last time they make yo send you out for groceries. It is all very nice to know that there will be enough of the beastly rice for all of us and the boys at the front, but I’d rather have barley water, thank you. It is less sludgy. My attempts at humour and priggishness aside, I do hope you’re taking care of yourself, my dear. And I hope they are not holding you up. I am glad that it is Calcutta. I remember your eulogies to the baked hilsa at the Chowringhee. Have one for me. The canteen here is beyond rescue. We here are ploughing through as well as we can. If the blasted war continues for any greater length, you will pr doesn’t end by the time you are home, you will probably come home to ripped bedsheets for bandages, and not enough of those. There isn’t enough of anything around here, but we are getting by. I suppose I oughtn’t complain. At least I am not the one in active duty in surgery just yet. There is one bit of a bad news. Tims the idiot got a splinter last week. At least it was painless. I suppose given the times we ought to bear it as we can. Ralph, I am at loose ends. Yesterday I was an inch away from stealing some Morphia before break. Had it not been for Nurse Harker I probably would have. There is never going to be enough for everybody anyway, at this rate. Be careful, dear one. I did not wish to sound quite so maudlin and burdensome when I started this letter, but now I positively loathe how it reads. I will do one better if the next shift ever ends. Bring me back some of the cheroot again and maybe we will get to share a smoke near the bridge. It should compensate for the shit that is passing for liquor. Theo says he wants to run an underground brewery. I’d be excited if I didn’t also have to sample the god-awful first attempts. Someday he and that pretty friend of his are going to land in gaol for the entirely wrong reasons and we will be even more shorthanded. He waxes poetry something awful and shares my name. Enough said. Don’t get lost in the marshes and eaten up Avoid getting devoured by midges, or malaria, or typhoid, or and the other ones for me, will you? God bless and godspeed, my dear. AP.S: The morphine was a poor joke. Don’t make too much of it, really. It was only a passing thought. The last rotation muddled my brain some. Honour bright.