31701-0237-0001

Brittania St.,
Manly,
7th Jan. 1944.

My Own Darling Husband,
I received two letters from you last night, both written on the 29th of December. Your previous letter was written on the 14th, and I was beginning to wonder what was the matter. I had a feeling you were ill, I hope you are well by the time this letter reaches you. I do hope darling you will be able to write more often now, your letters are all I have and I feel it when they come so far apart. Life seems ever so empty for me then.

You were right Alan, no part of Love can be bought, sold or lost. You say my taking it off on special occasions hurt more than my loosing it did. Actually Alan, it was never off my body, I always had it with me wherever I went. I thought I had lost it once before in town on night, I was fumbling with it and dropped it in the half light on the footpath. I just shook all over, I really thought it had gone as I couldn't see it, of course it was there all the time, but I got such a shock I couldn't find it. It made me feel sick then to think I could have lost it, you can imagine how I felt when I dropped it in the surf. It happened so quickly and my chances of finding it were so hopeless, I felt terrible, it spoilt my holiday as I couldn't stop thinking about it. I felt I never wanted to see Kirra beach again as long as I lived, and I would never care if I never had a holiday on the coast again, to the mountains every time with you I was going. I mastered that feeling, you know how I love the beach and the surf, I am afraid I could never stop away from it altogether.

I sent the parcel of soap you are thanking me for almost four months ago, about a fortnight after I sent the first lot. I thought you must have got that months ago, still it couldn't have arrived at a better time. It wasn't intended as a Xmas box.

I went to the Majestic with Monica last night, we saw "The Hatters Castle". It was a weird picture Alan, the kind that would give one a nightmare. You may have xxx read the book, the father was a maniac, an Irish man through and through. He looses his daughter, wife and son through his selfishness and in the end burns down his old castle commiting suicide. I will tell you all about it some time, if you care to listen, I guess I should think of better stories to relate to you though, this is a blood-curdling one. I am half way through East Lynn and between the book and the picture I had a heavy heart. It is as if I am living this book, Mr. Carlyle reminds me of you darling, he is a noble character, and the things he does are the things I can imagine you will do in time. His wife was so jealous of him, she thought he had changed his heart for a girl that had lost her heart ot him before they were married. This troubled her so much she listened to the tales of a scoundrel they had staying with them for a couple of weeks xxx and she ran away with him as his mistress for revenge. She was a Lady, her father being Earl Severn. Her husband had loved her insanely all the time