Two Letters to Miranda

[titusnowl]

Mirandaculous -

Subsequent to yours of the 13th and 17th, both of which I received in the same mailbag - two at a time, darling? Someone did have a busy week! (Actress, bishop.) Was the second one meant to soften the blow delivered by the first or something? Because I assure you it was unnecessary. So long as there's always a place in some dark, musty, otherwise-unused corner of your heart for me, I shall be content, and only pine a little. Not really enough to justify the word pine - more like juniper, or some other coniferous shrub, although I rather do like "junipering" given the amount of gin we go through here.

At any rate, I'm sure this Kenneth of yours is a fine upstanding chap or something, just don't give him my room - I might need it when I'm on leave, you know.

Don't let him throw out my things, either, and while you're rearranging for new cohabitation I'd appreciate it if you could check and see if we still have that spare featherbed. Will you be using it this winter? If not, then I'd awfully appreciate it if you could send it along to me; this particular base seems to get colder than the last one I was at, and someone will have my head if I steal everyone else's blankets. I have a very delicate constitution, you know, and you'd hate to be responsible for my catching my death of pneumonia for the second time in several months.

I'm also enclosing a cheque, which I'd like you to use to pop down to the store and pick me up one of those new Polaroids that can shoot in colour. Send along quite a bit of film, too, of both kinds, tending more toward the greyscale so as to get the maximum efficience out of the dollar; I've seen the rates they charge for the full-on Technicolour Dreamfilm, and given that I just know Cuddles will be appropriating my equipment (as soon as we're on speaking terms again)I'd rather not bankrupt myself utterly. You can wrap the box up in the blanket for padding, and call it my Christmas present. Then you can have the pleasure of being bombarded with images of all these people I keep writing you about.

On to more serious subjects: [The next page and a half are part of the ongoing discussion about Henry VIII's musical accomplishments, although in the absence of new research material of his own it mostly consists of refuting or taking issue with the bits she came up with last time, interspersed with arguments ad hominem based upon Henry's weight and several wives.]

Oh, and as long as we're setting precedents with slightly frantic letters describing and apologizing for new love interests, shall I reciprocate with the tale of how I fell for a chap who looked like something washed up on a beach? I'll try to sound sorry about it if you like.

Despite your best efforts, I remain, to some degree,

Yours,

Terry

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Long bracketed blanks indicate bits removed from the letter by the censors.

My dear Miranda,

I always smile when I sit down to write to you. It's one of the most pleasant acts of letter-writing I get over here, and it's dreadfully diverting to picture you sitting in the breakfast-room, overcoming your disappointment at having received another note from me, and then unfolding it to peer upon the remnants left after the censors' attentions. I imagine most of my missives end up resembling those paper snowflakes children make for Christmas decorations, and in fact [                                                 ] just for [                                                   ]

Our situation remains largely unchanged, and whatever you've read in the newspaper lately I've probably read in the newspaper myself. As time takes its toll [                                                                                                                                                         ] our flock of little lost lambs increases slowly but steadily, as does the apparent appetite of our goat, whom I am beginning to suspect of attempted sabotage after Granddad caught him in the ammunition. I do believe that animal is of far more danger to the cause than [                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               ] although I won't let Cuddles kick either one of them.

We're holing up for the winter now, and it's not sitting very well with Crusoe, who is of course cold-blooded (being Australian; they all are, as everyone knows, likely due to so many of the early inhabitants being cold-blooded criminals) and unused to temperatures which dip below boiling. By St. Andrew's Day he'll be sluggish as a paperweight, and we'll have to have him dragged about by his corporals and propped into position to maintain appearances. I only hope we don't lose him in a snowbank.

[The entire bottom of the page is cut off here, as is the first inch of the following one.]

I'm not certain how fast the mail is traveling these days, so I'd better ought to put in my Christmas list now, what? First and foremost: socks; plenty of them, far more than any man could ever use. They get valuable as cash over here, you know, and if you somehow manage to get hold of a full hundred pair I can give them out amongst the men and promote the impression that you are an earthbound angel. If you can't get the full hundred at least send SOME. Every little bit helps. For myself only - I scarcely have time to do any reading, but a book and perhaps a few magazines to keep as a sort of decorative item to remind me that the activity exists would be appreciated. And of course all the usual things that show up on the lists of Helpful Items to Send to the Soldiers - writing supplies particularly; I do such an awful lot of it.

Give my love to the dog, and keep however much feels appropriate to yourself; having propitiated Pietas and thus far evaded Thanatos, his brother Somnos calls to me.

A.M.

P.S. How long have I been signing off like that, and only just realized that it gives me the name of Ack Emma? I wish there were two of me, solely so I could use that.