1 May 1943
Alfred,

Well, I suppose that makes sense...as strange as it is...

I fail to see how not having a middle name makes me crazy...honestly, I think I prefer not having one.

Alfred, Benjamin Franklin played a key role in the American Revolution. A revolution in which America was breaking away from ENGLAND. How could I possibly not know who he is?

It does feel like a lifetime doesn't it? I feel as though the days have been a blur.I wish I would dream of you, like you dream of me. Airman Second Class, pretty soon you'll be a Captain, eh? That IS a rank in the Air Force, isn't it? I don't really know a bloody thing about the military.

The rations are hitting us hard, but I am better off than most. My garden helps, of course. I'm not getting skinny, I am perfectly in my weight area. Just because I'm not some well built muscular bloke, like a certain American I know, given those pictures, doesn't mean I'm skinny! I'm not even close to starvation either. AND I'M NOT BLOODY SICKLY, YOU SODDING TOSSER!

Just for that, I'm going to go to the hospital and charm every off-duty nurse I can find.

No, vegetables don't usually grow in April, Alfred. Late summer and fall is harvest time. One plants vegetables in the Spring. I grow what I can. Yes, they are quite lovely. Before the war I would sit out in my garden and enjoy a cup of tea, it's hard to find the time now. When you come home we can spend our afternoons there. It's really quite lovely to have fresh roses on my table again. I daresay, Springtime may just be my favorite time of year...

That's very kind of you. It almost reminds me of Shakespeare's sonnet...

Evan is from Wales, ducky.

I do enjoy gardening. It's very serene, and takes me back to happier times. Do you really take it up there? That's...very charming, really...I miss you, too...but they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Dar-Jeel-Ing. It's an Indian word, Alfred.

Nothing. Of course it isn't.

That would be lovely, we'll dance to whatever you want, poppet. It doesn't matter to me what. Anything would do. A waltz is wonderful, I'm surprised you know how.

So would I sit in the back of the Mustang? I don't like the idea of that. Is there anyway I could sit in the front with you? I think you are unforgettable, Jones. In every possible meaning of the word.

And America is wrong. It is colour and grey.

You're hair reminds he of wheat..what is the line? Amber waves of grain? Really poppet, you just embody your country. I'd like to see your hair turn one day too. From the subtle, peppered beginnings until it's solidly silver or grey completion. You have the makings of a very handsome man when your body matures completely. I think I shall have the pleasure of seeing it when you get back. You'll be nineteen soon, right?

You said that you wanted to be with me...what did you mean? Rather...how did you mean. No. Don't tell me through a letter. I want to see you first.

Well, as long as it's not keeping you from your rest. These dreams of yours.

I just guessed, really. I'm happy that it fits you.

With love,
A. Kirkland

P.S. Come home and I'll tell you.

P.P.S. Yes, I opened it. You look very charming. The locket and cross are light enough, they don't bother me. Though, I'm afraid they will scratch each other.

DON'T COMPARE MY FORMER QUEEN TO A COW, YOU BLEEDING SOD!

I think you would look charming in almost anything, Alfred. I am glad you are staying warm though.

No, he did not carry around a stick and shake it, Alfred...he was a playwright. A poet. And your eyes are beautiful.

I'm...thank you. I never considered myself beautiful. I knew I was somewhat handsome (aside from my eyebrows of course. The bloody things, I tried trimming them, even plucking them back...nothing sodding works, so I gave up. Much like my hair...Nothing I could do would make it sit right...)

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And oft' is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:

But thy eternal Summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet #18