[stationery letterhead of “Y.M.C.A., H.M. Forces on Active Service”]
11 C.M.R., D Coy.
Cheriton, Kent,
England.
1916

Dear “Non”

Tank youse fer de jeke letter youse writ me. De gontree iz veery pretty hear. Therarr piles of little burrrrds sangin all oveer everawhur. A nashty little kid yur size sits on the fance und swers like the dickuns at us. I feeal like nocking his uppur leep of weie a brick sumtimes. He cussis awful. I hope you nevur do Non, becus yeu know it realy aint smart to swur becus you heear the other fellus doing it every day. Just think to yourself hoaw silly they ur tu do it. They dontt knoise any better.

I am writing this in a dandy big green tent which has lots of writing tables in it and all the paper you want. Help this pen has the cobbly wobles. – Hellup Help. It is running away now so I will dip it in the ink. That is better. Tomorrow morning we are going to Sangate for another swim before breakfast.

Here is what one of our corporals calls a mustache [drawing of a head with an extremely messy mustache] Adrian is talking of growing one. His will be like this [drawing of a head with long stringy mustache, and a bottle labeled “hair tonic”]

Good night and help Mum all you can by being good.

Your loving big brother
Sid.