I’ll start by apologizing for the vague address, but better get used to that. Little, I know you’ve become the Master of the Map, but I’m not allowed to tell you where I’m going, and I can only tell you where I’ve been after I’ve left.

Anywhere, we’re “here” for the duration, however long that is. The brass is adamant we not become lazy. Physical conditioning is ten times what it was stateside, which I didn’t think possible. We are run ragged all day in cold, damp winds and ankle-deep mud. Exercising, drilling, running, crawling, target practice, hand-to-hand combat. The nights are free, though, and most of us get a second wind and head into the village of XXXXXX. If we get a 48-hour pass, we can hop the train into London (I’m allowed to say that).

Things in the city are expensive, so we stick to free sight-seeing. Some little establishments will give a guy in uniform a cup of tea. I think I’m the only one in my squad who actually drinks tea, so this works to my advantage. Although some Londoners are appalled at how dark I take it. “You can stand your spoon up in that,” they say, just like Marta. So it’s like being home.

The YMCA does a fine job billeting us, and I’ve told the canteen girls about Ma’s days in France, handing out coffee, smokes and sweets. They really appreciate the part of the story when she meets Paps. The young women in London are lonely, which is more irony than a body can process. The city is overflowing with young men while at the same time, it has a dearth of young men. Am I making sense? The men in London are only passing through. They are here, yet not here. They have no permanence. They are dreams of men. Ideals of men.

I’m hopeless. Nalle could explain this better. I’ve yet to hear from him or Minor but if you have, let me know.

I’m all right, no need to send me anything but news. We boys are bored, beat and brooding (allow us all the alliteration). Lots of speculation on where we’ll be heading from here, but no orders yet. I wish they’d just tell us. A fellow can tie himself in a million anxious knots, imagining what lies ahead. At least if you’re certain, you can narrow it down to…maybe half a million knots? Still, I know it can only get worse from here, not better. So I’m trying to collect the fun moments of horsing around with my buddies, mud football, live music on Tuesday nights, a pass to London, the British museum, a pretty YMCA canteen girl… Carefully collect all those experiences and take them with me to wherever that might be.

I take you all with me, too. Miss you awful.

Love,

Kennet

Paps,