TRANSCRIPT:
Friday May 28 1915
My darlingest I cant tell you how lovely I think the bag, its what I have dreamt of, but never could have imagined that such a dream would be realised. It has brightened up my day. That and your letter this evening accompanied by a marvellous box of chocolates which as well as being delicious for me make me very popular with the other nurses, just as well as they are my only chance of human companionship. I am so glad Geoffrey is pleased, I do hope he’ll write. I heard from Oliver tonight, I send it on to you, isnt he a sweet? You see he takes a normal masculine view that when one is going to be married one gives up little bits of fun like journeys to Boulogne, by the way you didnt send me Ruby’s letter, I wish you had.
I saw Frances this afternoon at Julian’s funeral, who had heard from Raymond about it, she was angelic and said delicious things about you. what† I love is when people say how lucky I am, not how lucky you are (I know that!) and thank God all the people who matter (& I’m one of those) think that I have done much the best of the two for myself in this matter.
I owe you a lost bet dont I? I would love you to have a photograph only I’m afraid it might depress you always to see so gloomy a woman. If I looked like Mrs Addison it should have been yours weeks ago. As it is I havent one by me, but I can get one when I come home, or you can get it before from a woman called Miss Hickling somewhere in Ebury St (near Parkenthorpes) and take it with all my love.
I am absolutely drugged by the life here, and feel no connection with myself. All the same I want you passionately to go to Nice with Reggie and to come here for a few hours, I long for you to see this place. Insist on going. It would be such a wonderful thing to look forward to.
I cant face old Josephs book, its too boring, also I’m afraid it would be useless as I should have forgotten it all by the time I got home so I shall mug up all about the Paschal Lamb when I get home.
What did we do last Friday I cant remember, I dined with Winston, but where did we go in the afternoon? Poor Bluey I hope he’s kept.
My family never write, so I know nothing except what you tell me, you cant write too much or too often.
If ever I have a daughter and she wants to marry some odious man whom I dislike I shall never send her away from home in order to cure her, its fatal. I adore you and live for your letters.
Much love
V.
—————
Written at the British Hospital, Wimereux.
† Sic.
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