Loretto Hall,
Victoria, B.C.
July 8, 1943

Dearest Les:

Two letters from you today! Aren’t I lucky? One is the one written from Margie’s place and thank you so much for telling me so much about her and her work. Your “Air Mail” wasn’t quite as successful as hers – as her letter arrived a couple of days ago, but it did pretty well all the same.

First criticism is that you refer to a sketch of Marge’s flat, but omitted to enclose it. However, I can get a fairly good idea from your description – sounds nice.

Am so glad that you found Marge so much better, and the job so congenial. In her letters she’s inclined to rant a bit about “Youth Movements”, etc., which kind of gets Mum down, but I realize that it’s an interest in some such work that will be her salvation. Long as she can get completely wrapped up in her work and the kids, she’s got something to live for.

I was very amused at your “bar-room technique” as you outline it, until I began to wonder whether that same idea is why you picked me – “more success with the repulsive looking ones”! That’s going to take some explaining.

I’m afraid you didn’t get my cable in time, although I sent it within an hour of when I got yours. But as I only had the Club address and I shortened it to “Bedford Girls’ Club” – without the street, I’m wondering if it ever got there, since you say how few people know of the Club’s existence. Hope you do get it eventually, though.

I’m trying to figure out your remark about Ginger leaving “next week” for St. John. Almost sounds as though you’re staying over that side for awhile. Hope I’m wrong – I want you to get your letters.

The second letter I got today was written before your holiday, and you say it’s the stupidest letter you’ve ever written. I disagree and I also disagree with the remark that it’s not a good idea for you to write when you’ve nothing to write about. It’s just such letters which tell me more of what you think and do every day, and I’m sure discussing such things brings us closer together. The big important letters are too full of what’s happened and, while they’re grand to get, they don’t tell me nearly all I want to know about you.

I’m glad you didn’t tear up your lecture on economics. I guess it’s time I broke down and told you one thing you’re not going to like. I was hoping you’d have guessed it from the few hints I’ve dropped in various letters, but I guess you haven’t. That is, that I am definitely quitting the U.M.D. when I get married. I’ll get a job somewhere else when you go back after your leave – I know I’m crazy to throw up a job like that, and we’ll need the money and you’ll probably think I’m not being very fair to you, but I really can’t stick it much longer. I’m sort of the bridge between the old U.M.D and the new, and it’s not a very comfortable position at times. Also I’m getting terribly “stale”. I hope you won’t think I’m getting a lot of flighty notions – I think even you’ll admit that 13 years with one firm isn’t exactly flighty. Incidentally, both Mr. Hammill and Mr. Anderson are quite convinced that I’ll never quit, and they frequently remark they don’t know how they’ll get on when I do leave, so I’m pretty sure I could always go back there if I wanted to. Also, I can’t help thinking that if you’re stationed on the East Coast, I could get a job at least somewhere where you could be with me on these occasional few days off that you get. The future’s so uncertain that it seems wicked not to make the most of the present. However, we can fight that out when you get home. The only thing that seems definite is that we both want to settle down in good old Victoria some day, and I’ll be just as glad as you will when that day comes – the sooner the better. Pity you’re going to have so much trouble with me first, isn’t it!

In the same letter you ask me not to try to reform you. You needn’t worry. That’s one of the reasons I wouldn’t marry you “way back when” – I’d have wanted to reform you then and I at least had sense enough to know it wouldn’t work. I’ve changed a lot since then – am more tolerant anyhow – maybe have more vices myself? I just realized, you don’t know me very well now, do you? It’s a long time since we used to take those long walks and have those heart-to-heart talks. You’re always telling me I don’t know what I’m letting myself in for – do you know what you’re letting yourself in for?

Gosh, getting awful serious, aren’t I? To reply to your question re strawberries, you were right -in fact, if you remember, the first berries usually came in about the middle of May. By June the market was glutted with them. This year, however, has been different – it was a very late season, so that there aren’t as many berries, and few pickers, so that while there have been some since the beginning of June, they’ve never gone below 25¢ a basket. Isn’t that awful?

Funny you should mention the silhouette picture after all this time. I’d been wondering if you’d received it. Marge has a copy of the Meyers picture, at least a slightly different pose, taken at the same time, so I guess that’s where Auntie Marie saw it.

You ask what Betty had to say for herself when I met her at the Crystal. Actually, very little -nothing of importance. She has been quite sick – some sort of kidney trouble – is taking treatments. Mrs. Pollard has been in bed with varicose veins, on top of her other illness. Mum went to see her the other day. Betty had a letter from Al – he is out of hospital, but Mum couldn’t remember where he was stationed.

I hear Doreen Molloy is joining the Air Force as a dietitian – gets a commission right away. She has probably already left for Toronto or somewhere.

Played for Elaine at a concert at Pat Bay last night. Hope you don’t mind – knowing your objection to Air Force, I kind of wondered.

Have you made any enquiries about your bonds? Neither of the ones you bought by instalments has turned up. Couldn’t you write about them?

Just read this over, and I find it’s very disjointed and almost abrupt in spots – not at all the way I want to write to the man I love – because I do love him so very much. I wish I could tell you things instead of having to write them – they never sound right this way.

Mum has been in bed all day today – I think she had too much sun on Sunday, she’s been feeling punk ever since, but I think she was a bit better when I left her tonight. Do you think you could find time to write a few lines to her sometime? I know she’d love it, and we’re very good friends now so you needn’t worry about saying the wrong thing.

Hope I get some more letters from you soon, too – I’m awful greedy. But that’s because I love you.

Your Wannie