19 Craven Hill Garden
My darling pal:
There was a dear little billet doux from you this morning written on the 6th - a whole week it took to come, that is longer than usual but apparently you are on the trek somewhere and letters always seem to linger on the way at such times. I do so long for it all to be over sometimes dearie. War dragged on year after year ceases to be romantic as it is for the first few months and just at this moment I feel that I have had all the war I want in my lifetime. I got my passport photographs to-day and they are simply awful - too dreadful to even send one to you - I am going to label them "What the war has done for me". I'm glad you got the parcel alright. Do the collars fit - you forgot to tell me and I want to know for the next time.
They are becoming stricter and stricter at Pensions and to-day there were sort of plain clothes detectives around (or at least I suspected them of being such) who were quietly keeping track of how much work we did and the intelligence we displayed in doing it. One move on their part was to separate Poo Bah and me for we generally get through a good bit of talking when we are together. Poo Bah was given some work in the opposite corner of the room. It was all done nicely and we didn't gather the reason of the move just at first but it gradually dawned on us that there was method in their madness. Poo Bah still bewails her youthful Guardsman and has planned to shoot herself if he gets killed but she is finding life a bit more interesting and her eyes are not quite so sad and pathetic. Now I must go to bed dear heart so good-night. Take care of yourself for me dear heart. Your loving little pal Alice Leighton