Dear Mavis, Are You Bloody Well Kidding Me?

by Abracadebra

What happens when Newkirk finds out that his sister has been writing letters to Colonel Hogan-and that the Guv has actually been writing back? Letters from an irritable British corporal happen, that's what. Many thanks for Prolegomenon aka Old English Game for inspiring this response with her very funny "To Colonel RE Hogan" story and to LE Wigman for playing along.

8. Chapter 8: Burns Night Redux

JANUARY 26, 1944

Dear Mavis,

I just couldn't bear it. Thanks to Uncle Gwilym and his years on stage, I've already memorized every off-colour passage from Shakespeare, and there was something about hearing them from Kinch that just set my teeth gnashing. I mean, he is the most perfect and apparently noble chap in the camp, with no discernible flaws whatsoever. It was like trading dirty jokes with a priest. Very uncomfortable.

So last night I told him I was knackered and tucked myself in bed at lights out—9 o'clock if you can bloody well believe it. Nobody even noticed when 45 minutes later I was tugging on my boots and taking off in my nightshirt and greatcoat (and a tartan scarf what I pinched from Donnelly) for Barracks 12 where I don't mind telling you the ale and whiskey was flowing. It was a pity I missed the piping in, but I did arrive in time for some cock-a-leekie soup.

Did I say nobody noticed? Well, at least I thought not. That was, until about 11 pm when Kinch and Hogan showed up. I assumed they were there for the culture. I mean, we were all having a grand time reciting and discussing Rabbie's poems. I had just stood up to recite "To a Louse," a very meaningful poem for any POW, but Roderick MacDonough insisted it was his turn, and there was a bit of an argy bargy.

Like the gents we are, Roddy and I settled our dispute by agreeing that I could make the toast to the lassies, and all was well once I got a cold rag on my nose. But the next thing I knew Hogan was shutting the whole Burns Supper down, and Kinch was dragging me back to the barracks and tossing me into Carter's bunk. As if I couldn't be trusted to climb up to me own or stay there without falling out!

Well, I woke up on the floor at 6 am and mustered out for rollcall, and it's been downhill ever since. I've got more KP (jankers, remember?) as soon as I can keep me breakfast down.

I don't know why I'm even telling you this except that Colonel Hogan and Kinch both keep looking at me, shaking their heads, and writing their bloody letters with snickers and grins forming on their evil faces. I'm just sitting here trying to be a good lad while LeBeau scolds me not to pick at the oatmeal he just slapped on my nose and eye, but I'm just trying to keep it from dripping on this letter to you, my favorite sister.

So that was my Burns Night. I expect my headache will die down to a dull roar by tomorrow morning. And I hope you had more fun than I did. Some days I wish you and Mam could just come and bring me home like you used to do.

Love from your extremely knackered brother,

Peter