Mar 011943
 

Monday
Chiswick
My darling,
I always love you, you know that, don’t you? But I love you to distraction when I receive letters like your two weekend ones. You are a darling girl to give me long-range erections and deep-down yearnings for you such as I have had since I got your letters, and such nice letters they are, too. Apart from loving you, I’ve had a very contented mind lately just through knowing that you are really well at last, and I’m so glad my crocus-time prophecy has come true. We’ll have to have your new spade silver-mounted for it seems to have been your lucky talisman, doesn’t it? It’s good to think that once more you can do a long spell in the plot, or a day’s washing, without feeling absolutely all in. Next thing is to get a couple of decent walks in and then you will be getting all the exercise you need and, with the plot, will have the advantage of some real interest in life apart from the family and books. That’s what is really needed to keep you fit.
All your gardening news was very interesting. I always found that bank a devil of an eyesore and a real handful to try to control. If you can get the grass pile by the manure dried out, that with the old raspberry canes and the big dead weeds from the bank should make quite a good bonfire, but don’t pull the weeds – those dry and thoroughly dead ones – until you can put them right on to the fire. That will save transplanting their seeds on to the plot. Once again, no matter how great the temptation to see the surface looking properly cleared, don’t rush this business of digging the plot, and especially the left-hand side. Be satisfied to do a little at a time and do it well. I have always thought the method of muck-spreading rather wasteful where manure has to be conserved so closely, but it may be worth trying. What that ground could do with is a good layer like that in the late autumn, or even this time of the year, and then manuring in the ordinary way as the stuff is put in. I think last year’s very disappointing crop of potatoes shows that the nature is going from the ground. So get all the manure you can from both Batty’s and Neville and hoard it and add every possible leaf from the kitchen to it so that next year you will be able to give it a real feed. By the way, have you given your spring cabbage a touch of nitrate of soda yet? I think you could give a few a little filip now. It’s March, you know, and the start of still another month nearer leave!
It seemed to me that the mere newness of the spade handle may be responsible for the condition of your hands. The shaft is probably shiny and slippy yet, and it is the very slight almost imperceptible slipping that helps to give you blisters.
Naphthalene seems to be the answer to the pests, doesn’t it? I’m glad you had a chatter to Yacksley. He’s a nice fellow and the only way to learn is from other people’s experiences and, generally speaking, gardeners are only too pleased to swap experiences. I’m glad you are going to have a few flowers, too, and that the children will have an interest on the garden. Let me know how your marigolds turn out. Why not line the plot path under the blackcurrant bushes with flowers, and use your parsley for filling some other odd corners? Or try the experiment of lodging a few flower seeds in the face of the bank. Just a few. They might take there and would look very effective if they did. How big was the rhubarb crown, by the way? Did it look really mature? And how are the blackcurrant bushes looking now? Will you get a much better crop this year? If you get some gooseberry bushes from Milly, try to remember to plant them somewhere so that when they grow bigger they won’t shade a lot of other stuff.
Jack and Dot are almost certain to get that other flat and will probably move in some time this month, but not a word to Mother! If they do, Jack is talking about getting a plot. I hope he does because I’ll be able to do quite a bit on my days off and I’ll feel more at home in a way. Dot is very keen on the idea, of course, as you may imagine.
Now to non-gardening subjects. I’m glad that, in the sum total, vapours were not excessive. That, of course, demolishes one of your cunning pregnancy arguments about the inevitability of the loss! Do have a really serious talk to Rees about this and DO tell me all he says. I’ll be interested, too, to hear his reactions to the fact that vapours fitted in with leave so well. That will probably tickle him to death. Yes, I’ll try to write Wendy in script some time, but don’t promise her anything as my script is lousy and I’ll have to experiment. It might be best in pencil.
So my stinking body has impregnated the bed? I do get the compliments, don’t I? You are an angel to think so nicely of me. I wish you had slept in my bed because then I’d have somewhere to nuzzle, too. And would I nuzzle – especially while I had you here. And I’m glad to have the somewhat tardy and begrudging admission that your sexual urges were satisfied to some extent. Mine aren’t for I get a smashing erection each time I re-read your letters. By the way, something came unstuck and I didn’t get your letter at Whitehall until this morning. I can’t understand it because it is postmarked Saturday 1.30. It must have just been carelessness by someone.
I’m more pleased than I can say to hear that you are writing something at last. Don’t bother sending me an original. Let me have the carbon and stick the original into the post the moment you have done it. If you send it to me you’ll waste nearly a week. Where will you send it? To the ‘Echo’, or to one of the nationals? Would it make a broadcast? That’s the stunt to get into if you can. If you don’t sell it to the papers, quickly bung it off to the BBC. Get it done without waste of time, love. I’m dying to see it.
You’re a devil for parting us, aren’t you? First it’s Beryl and I; now you have a hidden husband and I find in my innocence that I’ve been living in sin for seven years, nearly! You produce any hidden husbands if you dare, you hussy. I’ll swing for them, but first will shag you to death. Oh death where is thy sting?
Now, angel, it’s nearly four o’clock and I want to get an hour’s fresh air and have a bath before tea. Oh and talking of tea, can you send me an occasional quarter, please? They have stopped us going down to the canteen now and we want to make our own. If you can let me have some fairly soon I’d be glad. And I think perhaps you had better send me 10/- out of the old oak chest by return because I’m going out with Jack and Dot and a pal of theirs to dinner on Wednesday and that will probably cost me few bob in drinks. Cigarettes run away with my money, as you can imagine. You can’t buy many at 1/6 for 20 when your sole income for all purposes is about 23/-. I’m not moaning. Just stating facts, love.
And now, sweetheart, I really must go. Again, many many thanks for two lovely and cheerful letters. Sweetheart, I love you more and more and that’s why it means so much to know my girl is well and strong again. All my love, my own.
Ever your
Arthur X
P.S. I have at last written to Geo. No baccy from the Grapes yet is there?