I love you. I miss you. I want you here with me. I know you are needed out there; you are very able. I’ve heard many things about men dying over there (where ever you are), but I shouldn’t worry about you.
From what I’ve taken from your last letter you had a small case of trench foot, how are your feet now? I didn’t know what trench foot was so I asked Sally down the road. She knows everything about the war and you lads; I guess working in the recruitment office wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Much better than working in the Baker’s, at least I’m getting the left overs.
George has another tooth since we last spoke and Maddy is learning to walk properly now. I guess Maddy is just developing faster. I hope George catches up. It would be quite strange to have one child who will walk and have to carry the other. They’ll be fine. I hope.
It’s hard on them too, you being away I mean. George said ‘Dada’ yesterday. It was a very proud moment. Even though they barely know you at least they care about you and want you back, we all do.
I think your mum has taken your absence the worst; she just sits in her house. It’s good I’ve got a job; I’ve got to take care of her. She took a little turn for the worst last Sunday. She didn’t go to church, that may not sound that bad but she’s never missed one in all her life, well except for the Sunday she gave birth to your brother, Arnold. Every single soul from around the village was on her doorstep on Monday wondering how she was and why she wasn’t at the service. It was very hectic that morning, I met the Baker outside the house and he gave me the day off and double pay, despite not working. He is such a caring man.
I wish you all the best until we speak again and please just remember I love you. I really do.
Love from your adoring wife.