A quick update in response to an urgent request from NoblesseSeria
September 22, 1944
Dear Mavis,
Sorry I haven't written recently. I'm getting over rather a nasty cold. I was holed up in Colonel Hogan's quarters for three days trying to keep my germs to myself. LeBeau tells me I owe my recovery to his chicken soup, which apparently I greatly enjoyed*, although I have no recollection of this whatsoever. The Colonel tells me I had a raging fever, so perhaps that explains why I can't recall a bleeding thing about being ill.
And no, Ducks, I don't suppose we can say Da's reformed himself if he's up to what I think he's up to in his little business venture with Ernie. But it does sound like he's trying to reclaim Mam's affections, and perhaps even get to know the little ones. I won't complain about that as long as he doesn't corrupt them the way he … well, you know, and I'd rather not spell it out.
Speaking of Da, I sent the old man a letter on June 6. Do you happen to know if he got it? Do you suppose he'll write back to me? I shouldn't be surprised if he doesn't and I don't suppose I care one way or another. But he bleeding well started the correspondence, and a reply would seem only courteous.
Please tell Mam that next time she writes I shall want all the details on her visit to Wales. I do hope Maggie and Lily caused minimal chaos, though I don't have very high hopes. I also hope Auntie Gwynedd is laying off the rum, and don't you dare tell Mam I said so. Any chance of a getting a photograph of Mam and all of the kiddies with Nain and Taid?
We're all holding on here. Our Red Cross packages aren't coming as regularly, so we're a bit hungrier and crankier than usual. My reserves of fags are running very low, but I do still have some of the tea you sent, so that's a mercy.
Bits of news are trickling into the camps. We heard from the guards last month about the liberation of Paris. The guards are all looking rather glum, as one tends to do when the noose tightens. You know I'm not given to bouts of sunny optimism, but it would be awfully nice to come home by Christmas. Of course, I've wished for that for years, and look where it's got me. This year will make five bleeding Christmases in this pit.
I don't suppose you've spoken to Rita lately, have you? If you do, please give her my very best. I miss her letters, but nearly five years is a long time to wait around for a bloke, especially with all those rich Americans crawling about who've never seen a gorgeous peaches and cream complexion in all their lives.
Look after yourself, and Mam and the children as well.
Your sad and sickly brother who could really use a few more letters from home, not to mention fags,
Peter
*Oh good lord, Newkirk's health was completely fine, but in "How to Catch a Papa Bear," season 4, episode 3, he did have to fake an illness. According to the series timeline painstakingly created for the Fandom wikia by someone with a lot of time on his hands, that episode took place September 18-21, 1944, putting Newkirk in Nazi captivity for two or three nights.
October 10, 1944
Dear Peter,
Blimey, would you stop beating about the bush and tell me what you want? Yes, I'll ask Da and Rita and Mam to write to you.
Da was over the moon to get your letter and has been waving it about down the pub. And hang about before you ask why he's still drinking. He goes to the pub only on Saturday nights, as he's out in the country with Ernie doing his work on weekdays. He's not getting plastered the way he used to do, probably because Uncle Arthur usually goes with him and also because it's just not done these days. You know Uncle Arthur, sipping at his shandy—he's sober enough to ensure Da paces himself and doesn't ogle the barmaids.
As for why Da hasn't written to you, I think he's just not sure what to say to you next. It's a bit of a chess match between the two of you, isn't it? I know you're aching about this, no matter how tough you try to sound. Give the old man time to pull his thoughts together. I'm sure he has more to say to you, perhaps even some things you'd like to hear. I'll speak with him.
And my goodness, Peter. I'm quite certain Rita has not taken up with another bloke. She's working in a shipping office in the dockyards and they're keeping her terribly busy. I can't say I understand it, but she's still potty for you and I know for a fact that she writes to you every week. Perhaps the post has slowed down on its way through Switzerland. Rita and I are meeting up on Friday after work to go to the pictures, so I'll have a word with her then. There's a new American musical film called "Going My Way" that everyone is terribly excited about. I'll pass along your charming compliment without making it sound quite as backhanded as you did. See, I'm still good at mopping up after you, Pete.
Mam wrote you a very detailed letter from Wales, which I expect you'll receive soon. It turns out you were right about Auntie Gwynedd, you blighter. I'll give Mam the pleasure of filling you in on all the details.
Please take care of yourself, Peter, and give my warmest regards to Robert and the rest of your mates. And look out for a shipment of woolens to get you and your chaps through the winter, even though I hope to heaven you'll be home before the first snow.
With love from your sister who adores you even when you whinge,
Mavis
PS, If you've got such an awful cold, you might want to cut down on smoking.