P.S. Don’t ruin my reputation for sobriety and non flirtationess by letting anything in this letter go beyond the family.
I have had a letter from Ella Matheson. Warn me of any future sister of mine in time for me to be up to date in congratulating Gorrie.
The long long trial has just ended. Yesterday at the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month (what a thing it is to have a mathematician in the family) Germany turned it in. I had just got back into camp from leave. Just after writing my last letter. I went to a halloeen party at the house of a big electrical power contractor in Glasgow, a bachelor who lives with his widowed sister and his niece. I fell in love with the niece very badly but it was only for “duration” so there is no need to worry about it now. They adopted me for the week,- and it was some week, I’m tellin’ ya.
I’d give you a long account of it only the typewriter is out of action and this is too much like hard work. For the eight days beginning Sat 2nd, we (two) had tea and supper together every night generally at their place (and expense) tea, and always for supper. I was supported in my revelry by two Canadians who were also at the party and engaged themselves for duration to two other
pretty bonnie lassies from two houses up. In fact, the six of us knocked around together to a large extent. I am not going to tell you how much a special celebration dinner in a little private room where the waiter had to knock before entering cost us. I caught the 11.35 p.m car back from Muirend (5 1/2 miles from the city) every night except the last. They altered the clock that night. The two girls came down to the corner as usual to see me off knowing the car had gone. They then gently but firmly led me back and insisted on my having the spare room for the night. I spent all the next day (Sunday) with them and left Glasgow at 9 p.m that night.
I arrived back in camp here, heard peace was declared so about turned and with Harry Reynolds (AGS and AUC) made a bee line [no pass] for the Smoke. In France I had promised Arnold my medical corps teaching, chess friend, that I shd get
drunk stunned Peace night whether I was with him or not. But except for beer, the smell of which makes me sick, London had practically dried up, so we had to do our best to get the glad feeling on 3 shilling brandies each that had been saved from the wreck of a little French bar. I was pleased to be in the greatest city in the world on the greatest day of the century, but you have probably had a better account of it in the papers than I could give here. Have only received one letter from Paget St dated 25-8-18. I connected with Conney’s big brother here about five weeks ago. You seem to be having a fair amount of sickness in N.Z.
Whenever I receive parcels I mention them in the next letter,- they usually inspire me to write at once, so if I have failed to mention receiving any, they are to be presumed missing. The ones you posted in Jan probably went to France to find me, and when I shifted over here and signed a separate peace, would be used as Hosp comforts over there. The birthday cake came late,- you probably got my acknowledgement of it after writing. I had to ponder over the concluding sentence (enclosed) of your letter quite a long while before I “got” it. It changes it’s meaning according to where you imagine the commas, and whether you take the two final words “finish” to apply to the war, or to home, or to me. Don’t take all this letter seriously as (from what Charlie says) you seem to have taken some piffle I wrote to Dad about a year ago.
I’d like to be across the pond singing “Apres la guerre fini” now. The old froggies will be all digging up the cases of champagne that they buried behind the fowl-house out of the way of Fritz.
All I want now is for some duke or rich uncle to give me £3000 to spend four years at Cambridge with.