[written on a postcard picturing the Upper Leas promenade in Folkstone, England]

Dear Olive.

This is the place where dada sits and writes letters to mama and to you children. Don’t you think it is a pretty place. Wouldn’t it be a shame if the Germans came and spoiled it all. Some day when you grow up you will come over to this country and see lots of nice places like this. I was very glad to get your nice long letter telling me about Uncle John’s rabbits and about your picnic and about the widow’s barrel of meal that never got empty. It was a nice letter.