Tobruk

My dearest darling girl,

At last I have a little time to write a proper letter instead of scribbling a note off to you. I hope it gets to you soon – post out here seems to take forever.

Life’s been hectic since our arrival: at every turn there’s some problem or other. The most pressing is water – the few water wells that exist have been salted by the Germans in order to deny water to the enemy. It’s enough to make your blood boil! We gather what little water we can from anywhere we can, and dregs of water bottles can be boiled up in a billy can for sterilizing instruments. The work is hard and gruelling in this climate. One day is much like another in the desert, and I’m told that months can go by with no rain at all. Every surface is covered with a thick layer of dust which rises in clouds when disturbed – it’s a real menace to keep at bay when you’re performing surgery. We all long for a bath, which is completely out of the question, so we make do with a bar of soap and a flannel – you’d be surprised at how little water is needed if you lather your whole body with soap then wash it off with just a flannel.

Another problem with the continuous heat is our major source of food, bully beef, which we eat with hard tack, dry biscuits, comes out of the tin like lumpy stew, but then it’s immediately smothered by a fine film of sand, constantly blown by a dusty hot breeze. I try hard not to think of the lovely fresh produce we eat at home, Farmer Arkwright’s tangy Lancashire cheese, fresh milk and creamy butter, not to mention Sister Mary Paul’s delicious home-baked bread. As if sand-covered stew isn’t bad enough, the flies immediately pounce on our grub, and they’re so persistent you simply can’t wave them away. They’re a danger to health too, causing sand fly fever and terrible desert sores. I try my best to keep my patients’ wounds clear of flies, but they regularly descend in a swarm causing bad infection and immense irritation.

That’s enough of me! How are you? There’s hardly an hour goes by when my thoughts don’t drift to you and the baby. How is he or she? The thought that very soon you’ll give birth to our son or daughter brings tears to my eyes. I love you so much, my sweetheart, not just because you’re clever and beautiful, I love your bravery and strength. Thinking of you steadies my racing fearful thoughts, and when I close my eyes, I see your calm smile and I immediately feel better. I beg you to look after yourself, and our baby when it comes, and please, please, keep me informed, get somebody to write or send a telegram. Kiss the baby when it arrives, tell it Daddy will be home soon. Until then, my treasure, take great care of your sweet self.

Your loving husband,

Jamie

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