Somewhere in Wales
October 11, 1943.

Dear Stinky,

Poetry, holy cow, I’ve read better poetry in the ads on streetcars. Grade 11 eh? They’ll be grabbing you for the land army next thing you know. And at a bob a week too, instead of two bob an hour. How about sending over a pound or two so I can take a girl to a dance one of these nights? Things are expensive over here you know what with taxis and all. You certainly did yourself O.K. this summer. How much weight did you sweated off? Twenty pounds was it?

Seems to me that all you need now is a new violin. Have you a piece called “Warsaw Concerto” You should try and get it. It might be quite difficult but I think you and Margaret could play it.

I suppose Calder is still looking after your educational welfare. Good show you going back a week late. Bet that shook him. Should be getting that new aeroplane any day now. Will probably have it by the time this gets to you. No pink and yellow ones here tho. All grey and green. Camouflage you know for the dirty war

You sure had a smashing time at that party. Simply devastating, what. So you finally won the “Battle of the lipstick” ---- jolly good show, old bear. But who likes bears.

We mostly beetle of into Chester on week-ends. Its a doozy place. Bags of girls and all. The only trouble is that its hard to get home from. No cars on the roads over here – very few taxies and no trains or buses after 10 o’clock. Gets cold standing on the corner waiting for a lift at two or three in the morning. Kind of grim getting up the next morning too.

All for now, J. Gotlots Peabody.
Sandy