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March 9 1943. Airgraph. MEF.
Dear Mother and Dad,
If I told you of all the mail I’ve just had, I would fill a letter, but here’s a brief outline of what’s just come in. A 6d air letter off Mrs Loake from Cottingham (Mkt Harborough), one off Auntie Ethel. Two letters from the padre down distant Cairo. A 6d letter off Levi. Two 6d letters off you and three 1.3 letters off you. One 6d letter off Eve and two 1.3 letters off Eve. What a haul, isn’t it?
The dates go back to December 17 and are as recent as 2 weeks ago. One of yours and one of Eve’s bare 25 February on them. Then you ask how quick they are. I find they average 3 weeks, and as you see, as low as 2 weeks.
Well, Mother, you certainly send me lots of news. Arthur Moore is most startling, downright disgusting. I had to read it out to my mates. He wants putting right out here with a load of petrol or ammunition, replenishing tanks under shell fire. He would know what he’s been missing for 3½ years.
I’m glad you had a fair Christmas. We didn’t do bad, as you already know. I was interested in your mention of the XII Lancers. I’ve never met the “jokers”, but I guess they’re knocking around somewhere behind the spearhead, as are most units who are mentioned on the wireless.
You ask how I like Tunisia. Well, it’s much better than anything we’ve seen since Greece. There’s lots of green, trees, and more of an English atmosphere, but even so it falls far short of dear old Blighty. There’s no place like home.
We have changed to francs now. A few weeks ago it was British military money and Italian lire. I guess we will get used to it soon. I’m fully better again, not a thing wrong with me, thank goodness. My mate was hit yesterday with a bit of bomb shrapnel, right on his forehead, but as luck would happen, it hit his cap badge and he only sustained a nasty cut. He’s up and about, nothing to write home about, he says. We’re all OK, and will soon have it over over here.
Cheerio. Love to you all. Alb. Xxx.

May 7 1943. MEF.
Dear Mother and Dad,
At last the writing mood has caught up with me. Perhaps it’s because of the good news. The news tonight is much better than the weather. It’s pouring with rain but quite warm, while I hear we’re entering Tunis on the 7 o’clock news.
Maybe I can explain and answer a few questions you have asked in previous letters. Regarding the time: we hear your 9 o’clock news at 8 o’clock, while actually it is 7 Greenwich time because you have two hours on for Summer Time.
No parcels have arrived yet, but bags of papers all very old, mostly December, and I don’t think I’ve had one of this year’s yet. But we get the Egyptian papers regularly and the Tripoli Times.
As I have already told you, I’ve seen Arthur Pickin and apart from Harry Burton I haven’t seen anyone else I know yet.
This past 6 months, or since El Alamein, I haven’t written to anyone else but you and Eve. I shall have to get down to business as soon as this effort is over, which won’t be long now.
I think we shall be on the move very soon. I’ll bet Old jerry is packing his bag tonight down this end. He’s certainly held us a bit, but there’s been a reason for it I can assure you. It will be very interesting to know what the 8th Army did do around here; perhaps the secret will be divulged in a few months time.
When I came through Susa or Souse, whichever way it’s spelt, I met the first elements of the American 5th Army. I’ve seen the Yanks before, but not in the real battle outfit, with their tin hats, guns, etc. I remember seeing them last year in May or June, just as the battle was getting under way, around Knightsbridge and the Devil’s Cauldron. You would have laughed if you had seen them, only three tanks with their full crews and the first tank drew up, a Yank sitting on the turret with a ukulele and bags of singing coming from inside the tank. The Yank asks us “where’s this shooting Gunnery, Tankie? We want to catch up with this guy Rommel.” He duly got his answer with a jerk of the thumb. “Just over the ridge, Pardner, you’ll get all the shooting you want.”
I had a good impression of them at the time, but from what I’ve seen of them up here, they seem to be very careful. Even when I went 40 miles behind the front, I saw them wearing their tin hats, as if expecting trouble, but Jerry’s planes have vanished weeks ago, except for odd ones.
I’m just listening to the news which you are listening to (your 9.0 news); it’s 8.0 here. I’ll bet you’re excited, talk about a Dunkirk! It will be a massacre and I’m thinking we’ll have to get mobile if we’re to be in at the “kill”. But still we will be there-abouts in due course, and to think that with a bit of luck, it will all be over and almost forgotten by the time you get this.
I started off answering questions and went right off the subject, because I couldn’t think what all the questions were which you had previously asked. But I remember you asking what was wrong with my hands and arms.
Well, it started at Alamein. I was unfortunate enough to get a few knocks and bruises when a plague of flies was in the locality, and the flies, breeding on dead bodies and filth of a battlefield, carried all kinds of disease which I must have picked up. So there it is in a nutshell. And not being able to keep the old hands out of water and petrol all the time, and not being able to have daily dressing long enough to see them completely better, I was troubled with them until recently. I may as well tell the truth. I still have sores and bandages on, and I have almost given up the idea of them getting better this side of Blighty. But don’t worry, I’m not at all worried myself.
You ask also, “Who is my mate Lofty?” surely I have told you all about him many a time. I went on leave with him after we came back from Greece. Also after the November “Do” of 1941/42 and May/June “Do” last year, and I’ve always gone out in the evenings with him. Now say you’ve never heard me mention him.
His name is Jack Marsden, comes from Halifax where he has a newsagents business of his own, handed to him from his retired dad., Retired Dad, Dad. He must have made a bit. Runs a 12 HP Morris too. Very rich these newsagent men. But we’re running away from the subject again. His Mum and Dad are too old to run a lively newsagents; they are in the region of 70 and, to make matters worse, his Ma is an invalid. She has been for many years. Jack is the only child, so I reckon they deserve to retire and yet the war has ruined their lives too. It means that his Dad has had to keep the business going until Jack comes back, and also look after a sick, wife so it’s pretty tough on them.
Did I ever tell you I saw the Desert Victory film? I think I did, it was shown to us some time ago as an open air show, just behind the battle front. Aren’t we getting saucy, having an open air show right under Jerry’s nose? You can see how the tables have turned.
Well, Mother, I will be off to bed. Good night. Love to you all. Yours ever, Alb. Xxx.

May 23 1943. Airmail MEF.
Dear Mother and Dad,
I’ve just had a pile of Sentinels, City Times, Thompson’s and a Titbits, about 28 papers altogether, all January’s, and a few letters, including one from Rev High dated Nov 12th. I think this letter must have gone round the World before it reached me. I feel mad about it, because it was meant to be a Christmas 1942 letter; but still, it’s an exception, all other mail comes very quick.
I guess you heard Gen Monty’s speech in the Air the other day and there must be no doubt about you expecting me home soon, or even while there’s a war on. I think it was meant for you all at home, just to warn you, not to expect any 8th Army chaps home. I wasn’t expecting to come home, only just hoping, so it’s no real disappointment. I believe we shall have to see the war over before we see home again. Then I may be able to claim a record, that of having less leave for amount of service than any other British soldier.
Well, Mother, your parcel has not arrived yet, neither has Clarice’s PO. It’s almost a waste of time, isn’t it. I found some wonderful stuff in a Jerry Red Cross outfit. It smells like Johnson’s Oils and acts like it. But still I’m not clear of sores. I’ve given it up,. I think the lack of greens and fresh food must influence it.
We should have moved a few days ago, but we’re still here in the same place I wrote your last letter. Plenty of spit and polish, parades, PT and what-not, just for a reward I guess. But still, it’s just how the Army works. If one wants a bit of comfort or pleasure, one must get it off our own “bat”.
Well, Mother, there’s no news from this end now, it doesn’t mean I stop writing altogether, on the contrary, I shall write more when I get settled in our new area which won’t be long I hope.
Remember me to all at Etruria. Love to you all, yours ever, Alb. xxx.

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