My darling Peggy,

We managed to survive our short leave, although it was a close-run thing, what with the heavy monsoon and high winds which blew our bashas to bits so all our kit got soaked. Not that it’s ever really dry; it always stinks to high heaven with damp. It’s a miserable way to live, and to top it all, we had to contend with rats as big as dogs, and swarms of flying ants.

We set about making traps to catch the rats but they proved worse than useless, so Jumbo rented a good ratter of a dog from one of the Burmese natives which proved far more effective and was worth every rupee and packet of fags he paid for it.

You asked in your last letter how the fighting is going. Well, we’re doing our bit in the big push to advance and giving the Japs hell, so I’m convinced it will all soon be over and I’ll be packing to come home.

We seem to pack and unpack constantly for we’re always on the move, and have only just completed yet another very long march through almost impossible jungle terrain to make camp in the teeming rain. I’m chilled to the bone in soaking clothes, sweating at the same time and aching from head to foot. I’m hoping it’s not another bout of malaria coming on because it will mean having to be carted off to a field hospital where the conditions aren’t that much better – but at least the dysentery is holding off for the moment.

I shall be so glad to get away from this filthy jungle and sweating rice paddies, and it’s at times like this that I long to be back in the cool shade of the Cliffe estate’s woodlands, or down by the dark eel pools where Dad used to forage for berries and wild herbs before bringing back a sack of eels. I never really liked jellied eels, but anything’s preferable to bully beef.

I can’t explain where we are, why we’re here or what we’re doing, because frankly, Peggy, none of us knows what lies ahead – although we can make a pretty good guess. At the moment it’s a waiting game, and although everyone is calm, you can feel the tension building in anticipation of our new orders.

It’s stinking hot and because it’s so wet underfoot, we’re sleeping in our trucks, jammed in like blooming sardines and constantly pestered by great swarms of flies and troops of thieving monkeys – but at least the rats are leaving us alone.

I haven’t heard from Anne and the boys since VE Day, but I’m assuming they’ve been occupied with packing up and coming home to you. Tell them to write, Peggy; the letters and cards I get mean so much to me and they brighten even the darkest monsoon cloud. Cissy has sent numerous postcards which don’t say much, and I’m wondering if her American flyer ever did come home to her. I so look forward to reading all the news from home, Peggy, and although I realise you must be extremely busy, please keep writing to me.

With love and the hope we’ll soon be together again,

Jim xxx