This is a response to both "Mavis' Missives" by LE Wigman and Chapter 13 of "To Colonel RE Hogan" by Prolegomenon.

DECEMBER 12, 1943

Dear Mavis,

I'm writing from the infirmary, where I'm recovering from the shock of reading the words "my love life" from me own sister.

All right, I'm actually here with what our medic Wilson calls "a touch of pneumonia," and your last letter has not improved my breathing one bit. But for heaven's sake, don't worry, I'll be right as rain once I get my hands on a pack of fags. I saw an article in an American magazine called "Life" that said doctors have proved that cigarettes help to improve or completely clear up throat and lung irritation. Wilson clearly needs to read more.

But back to you. You don't need my advice about the blokes I spend day and night with? Right-o, then. That's me told. If LeBeau or Carter or Kinch writes to you and you want to have a torrid correspondence, carry on. I can see you're all growed up and ready to take on the world. If you've already walked out with that flat-footed, wheezy, unfit-for-service little blighter Jack Pierson, who must be, ooh, all of 22 by now, there's really not much more your big brother can tell you, now is there? I stand by my warnings about those other three lads though. They're all driving me potty by continuing to express an unhealthy interest in you.

Just don't say I didn't warn you, especially when LeBeau has you all tied up in knots with his seductive French phrases, just like the other 10 or 12 pretty girls what are writing him. Let's just put it this way. I've helped him compose a letter more than once. He's me best mate, and that means I know exactly what he's up to.

All I'm saying, Mave, is that I know these blokes. And if I happen to think my sister is too good for even my best chums, well, it's a fair cop.

As for the Colonel, just try not to tell him anything he can use to embarrass me. Is that asking too much?

And if you see Jack Pierson again, kindly remind him that your brother's the one what got him out of that mess with all three of Cynthia Quillan's brothers in the back alley of The Red Lion. Jack's not the brightest chap, but I'm sure he can put two and two together. And he still owes me two quid for a couple of pints, an ice bag, and the damage them Quillans did to my new suit right before I left for basic training. It took me six hours to reweave an elbow and a knee from a swatch cut from the selvedge and I'm still not happy with the result.

It's a pity you couldn't find Mam's black eye remedy, as there is no beefsteak here. The shiner did clear up after a couple of weeks. LeBeau insists it's because he slopped it with some gloppy oatmeal mixed with something called wolf's bane. While I rather like the sound of wolf's bane, the remedy was a ruddy mess and it felt disgusting. Plus I had LeBeau hovering over me constantly and insisting that this horrible concoction needed at least two hours to "rest" on my face. I think when you asked Hogan to look after me, he must have appointed LeBeau me personal nanny.

And yes, I am grateful that you have resumed calling me Peter. I am disturbed, however, to notice that the Colonel's now signing off as "Robert" and addressing you as "Mavis." That's a bit cheeky even for an officer. And yeah, he tried to cover up the letter when he was writing it, but he wasn't quick enough for me.

If I may make a mild suggestion, please try signing your letters "Miss Newkirk." That will send the message that you are a proper young lady and that your emotions are not to be trifled with. It will also reinforce that you are my sister, which Hogan appears to have forgot.

Love from your very concerned and extremely wise brother,

Peter

Gee, I wonder when LeBeau is going to write a letter to Mavis-or vice versa! I think it's time someone stepped in with that! (It won't be me - I'm sticking with one voice.)

And yes, there really were doctors' testimonials in the 1930s, 40s, and 50s about how smoking could improve lung function.