p.

Letter No. 79. Sunday Oct. 26th

Major J.H. Massey
6 Palestinian Coy, The Buffs
M.E.F.

My dearest darling Barbar

I do wish I could begin a letter with something
exciting or thrilling to tell you. It would be so much
better reading for you & would give me so much more
pleasure too. But there is nothing at all. I have written five
letters so far this month, to the extent of 52 pages &
goodness knows what I have written about - I do hope that
my letters are still interesting enough. You see here I am now.
There is really not one single important thing to tell you
about me or about my life - not a single matter which you
ought to know & which will make any difference to anything
- & yet I shall write from now, 9-0 pm, until I go to
bed. I shall probably read odd bits from some of your old
letters & look at your photos & in my album & think an awful
lot of things about you, past, present, future & talk to
Peter a bit, & have a whiskey & smoke some cigarettes -
the result will be another evening passed. & several,
we shall see how many, pages contributed towards your
next letter. I'm not for a moment trying to make
my letters to you appear to be a duty, even if they are.
I want you to get as much & as many as possible
from me - there is nothing else at all which I [wish?]
to do. but, darling, they are so much made up of
bits & pieces about me & my life - & odds & ends
about people & things. And sometimes I wonder, when
things are like this, if I would not do just as
well to write you one page. - Tell you nothing
has happened. I am very well & very lonely & missing
you far more than I can possibly tell you in
my words - & that I love you desperately & then