Saturday
Glasgow
Dearest,
I’m actually starting this letter on Friday night, but I don’t know how much I’ll manage to get done for it is a filthy night and a lot of the lads have decided to stay in. The dirty jokes have begun to circulate already and it’s difficult to concentrate for the lads seem to think I’m something of a raconteur.
There is not a lot more to be said on the question of pregnancy, which I think I have covered fairly fully in one of my recent letters. The only thing I would say at the moment is that it is not wholly a matter of “conscience” or even of selfishness but more, I should say, a matter of sheer common sense in these days. Anyway I think we can leave that matter until I come home on leave. I have had a feeling, as I said the other day, that there was a danger of this business becoming an obsession with you. I don’t want that to happen.
I’m glad that you enjoyed the pictures and that Michael behaved himself properly. You ought to go more regularly if you can because it will do you good. Why is Wendy off next week? She’s only been at school a few weeks. Is this “teachers’ rest” or does that come in the spring?
By the time you get this you will have returned from Limedale. Who’s ill this time? Sorry! Did you go on a pub crawl? You know what a low creature that Mother-in-law is! For ever drinking, she is. Who did you see on Sunday? I expect you went to see Milly about the loganberries. Which reminds me that one of the jobs I must do when I come home is to cut the raspberries back. It would be a good idea if you made a list of all the things that need doing and then I’ll know where I’m working.
While I remember, will you get a sheet of paper and make a note of anything I mention in the course of the next couple of weeks. To start with, I left a packet of thin airmail paper and some sticky labels in a big envelope somewhere at home, which I’d like to bring back with me. Will you also ask Mother about the socks and the sleeves in the polo-neck sweater?
So Thursday is your pay day? It’s ours as well every other week and this week we got the first of our rise. Another 3/6 – what wealth!
And having got that far I set off for Rothesay in the Isle of Bute. As you will guess from the pencil, I am finishing this letter while I’m there, but there is so little chance of doing any real writing that I won’t attempt to tell you about it. All I will say is that against all expectations the weather has been absolutely perfect. Just warm enough and a faint breath of wind. Put Port Bannatyne, Rothesay, down on the list of places we must visit when the war is over! Sweetheart, I’ve thought a lot of you this morning during our walk. If only you could have been here it would have been absolutely perfect. I’m enclosing another little sprig of heather I picked for you. I’m sorry you can’t have the perfect specimen of blackberries, which simply cover the hedges, because I’ve eaten a few handfuls of them.
The Highlands on a perfect autumn day are marvellous and I’ll try to tell you all about it tomorrow, although to do that I’m afraid I’ll have to type my letter at school. There won’t be time otherwise.
By the way, love, you didn’t send the clothing coupons. Don’t forget them.
Now I must go. We are due back in Glasgow at 6.30 and if I’m lucky I’ll catch the early post so that you will get this on Monday. I hope you do.
Bye for now, angel, and all my love. Hope your vapours are not too bad. Did you have a nice weekend?
Ever your own,
Arthur X
P.S. Can’t find the heather, which must have blown out of my hat. Sorry!
Oct 101942