My dear Mother
I was very glad to hear from home yesterday and get news of George. So Cyril expects to go to the Mediterranean. It seems more likely that he’ll see more progress there than nearer home, though it’s very difficult to gather the real state of affairs there. Things have evidently been quiet on this front of late, a pity we couldn’t strike while so many forces are exposed to Russia in Galicia. Out of evil perhaps some good has come, and a large mass of the people must now be realizing what many realized months ago, that we have to put forth every effort if we are to come out successful.
I do hope the press, and politicians, and other talkative folk will cease their jeering at each other’s pet views, and devote themselves to useful work now; the recent stir-up however has been very necessary from all one hears.
Yes, I think Mary finds the time rather slow, but she writes philosophically about it. The summer is moving along. I’m doing a fair amount of pathological work here to keep my hand in, and find the days pass quickly.
I expect the gathering and marketing of crops at home will be rather a problem. The plan of using parties of soldiers seems reasonable, I hope it will prove feasible in practice.
No news of letting the flat, I’m afraid it may be empty for a good many weeks. I’m insuring the contents against aircraft damage on a wide policy, I think it a reasonable thing to do. I suppose 12 months ago one would have smiled at taking such a step, but we’ve most of us learned a lot in 10 months, and probably have much more to learn. I hope our somewhat short memoried public won’t too readily forget.
Rouen is very bright and busy on these fine summer days. I don’t see many women wearing the absurd fashion plate monstrosities which the fashion makers have been trying all they can to force on them at a peculiarly unsuitable moment. I gather that the majority of women at home are letting commonsense conquer, and that without appearing dowdy.
We have a CofE padre living here, quite an able and reasonably energetic man but curiously hard and unsympathetic in face, looks more like a certain modern type of operating surgeon. He gave us a litany of the war translated from the Russian taken from a book describing the visit of the Bishop of London to the front. A fine and virile prayer, not namby-pamby leaving one in doubt whether its object is victory for us or our enemies.
Juliet must be a busy girl, I gather that she is doing quite a lot of teaching at present. I must write to her soon and answer her letter.
It is late and time I was in bed. I don’t find getting up much easier now that it ever was! But I’m generally at breakfast by 8.10.
Goodnight Mother dear. I hope you keep well and able to get about easily.
With very much love
From your son Arthur