Dear Roy

I went to the fete. They had the Ferris Wheel again this year. Mrs Jones won the jam competition. It must be the tenth year running – I'm sending a jar with this letter. Hopefully it'll arrive in one piece.

James Abbot won the strong man competition. I hope you're not too disappointed you lost your title to him. The sheep shearing was a disaster. Someone left a gate open and all the sheep stampeded down the high street! It took them almost two hours to round them up again. I got asked about you a lot. Everyone hopes that you're doing ok out there.

Really, Roy, I'm sure your friends aren't that eccentric. And if you're going to call me "dearest darling Riza" then you have no right to be surprised when someone takes it the wrong way, you dummy.

You're out there because you want to use the military to help people, remember? I know it can't be nice out there, but hang tight and you'll make it out the other end. You have to – you're not allowed to die on me Mister Mustang.

As for your face, I'm afraid I'm undecided. I never thought you were as handsome as the other girls did – they never had to live with you! Maybe you could come visit next time you have some leave, so I can decide how weasel faced you are. Your lady killer skills only exist in your head. Of course your sisters are worried about you – they're family.

I hope you're ok, Roy. Enjoy the jam.

Riza