68, Oxford Close,
Mitcham,
Surrey,
England.
Nov. 23rd. 1944.

Dear Jennie,

Or may I borrow Al’s nickname, and call you Buck?

It was very sweet of you to send my mother and I those delicious chocolates, especially as you have seen neither of us. I can assure you we appreciate it, and thank you.

We have a chocolate ration over here of 12 ozs each month, though boxes of chocolates such as you sent us are unobtainable. I can never make my ration last for one whole month. I usually have one grand spend-up, then go chocolate-less for a few weeks. I console myself with the fact that this meagre ration will prevent those extra inches appearing around the hips, though actually I don’t think it has made much difference to me. Even Al calls me “Tub.”

We are all thrilled over here at the moment, as black-out regulations are being modified, and we won’t have to grope our way along Piccadilly any more (we hope).

Al told me that it took him half an hour to find his way to the Strand Palace from Charing Cross in the blackout one night. I think he must have been to one of those R.C.A.F. parties as it only takes about five minutes really. However, he sticks to his story, and blames it on to the blackout.

Al has been attempting to teach me to speak with a Canadian accent. Don’t know whether he regards my English accent with amusement or disgust. The majority of Canadians imagine the English vocabulary consists of “By god, sir,” “Rather” and “Ectuallah, old chappie.”Am trying my hardest to convince Al otherwise. Damned if I can get accustomed to pronouncing ‘awful’ as ‘offal’ though.

Think on the whole, the boys enjoy themselves over here in spite of the rain. And this year it’s really been wet – even for England.

I do hope you’ll write to me, Jennie, and thanks again for the chocolates.

We, over here, wish you all a very happy Christmas, with the hope that the next one will not be spent in such distressing times.

Yours very sincerely,
Jeanne