May to David Beckenham 9.1.18
My dear David,
Yesterday morning your 12th letter came – a grand long letter. You don’t know how I look forward to them. Suppose you had to wait 3 weeks for my next letter; wouldn’t you long for it? Perhaps you do have to wait though.
You were queer a long time, quite five days for that attack. It must have been more than an ordinary ‘side’ attack. Did you take a chill as well? I expect you did.
I have quite forgotten all that Mrs Taylor and I talked about when she was discussing ‘Grandfather Christmas’. I believe I had told her she had better arrange all our affairs, and boss the household generally, that made her say she did not think it right to manage other folks’ affairs, but might live next door.
Thanks very much indeed for offering a donation towards the Bazaar, but you must not do it. I am wondering if you have sufficient left at Cox’s for your own wants after having that cheque sent to Balham each month. Now, don’t go short; there is no need.
We woke up yesterday to find ourselves in a white world. The cold is intense, and we are feeling very pleased to know you have received your parcel of warm clothes. Guess even now you are none too warm.
Last night I knitted as usual.
This morning I called at Balham, leaving home at the usual time, and Mrs Taylor and I went to Brixton Hill, where we got on much better than expected; in fact, I think everything is alright now. Then your mother came with me by tram to Kennington where we took the Underground, Mrs Taylor home, and myself to work. Your mother wanted me to go to a theatre tomorrow afternoon with her (and this was after spending nearly a week at Watford!) but unfortunately we are too busy. However, we are going to have a day’s holiday together when the weather is warmer, evenings brighter, and work slacker.
Cannot stop any longer now, so Goodbye.
P.S. I know you have a wretched cough.
You say my last 3 letters were especially nice. I’ve forgotten what they were about, so don’t know what you consider nice. I think they are all full of piffle and not worth reading, but then I am not allowed to put news.
Please arrange the bungalow so that we don’t get any burst pipes.
About that whistling; please imagine me doing it. You know I have always longed to whistle, but never yet succeeded.