Hugh S. Calverley - A Man at War...
Back in London

I went to Aunt Sybils for supper (after I had seen Norman and the family at Beddenham) – as dull as ditch water, nothing interesting being done at all. The Ouless house was quite different – furniture, books and Kitty Ouless had a lot of Icthysaurus head and teeth.

Norman was very nice. I went down for the afternoon - the family were delighted to see me, waiting for me to turn up for lunch (I sent a wire). Mrs Norman walked to the station with me and loved to hear about Margaret and the last ball, and swimming, berry picking and dance. We got into the Canuck environment for half an hour, into the Oakville surroundings. I took her into the pigpen, up into the other end of the lake, through the house, into our June wood. She heard Ram barking, Bene gurgling. Marg and Am scratching their pens writing me letters from apple trees? (dozens of them), Agg sizzling sausages, Dick running the farm and pop! Count the nights and he was in Bedford Station again, (being pushed about by a fat old lady trying to squeeze through the crowd).

Baly has a rabbit – white and grey. She explained that an accident had happened to the pigeons, the cat got em, sitting on the garden path.

Catherine and Mrs Norman and Francis were there. Tranus very solemn in his gry’s, much taller and Baly like Amice in Wonderland much grown plump. I gave them some Salisbury Plain photos. I am sending t hem on to you in the next letter.

Your loving Hugh

Drawing of a soldier
Drawing of a soldier Details
WWI Scrapbook - Hugh Salvin Calverley
WWI Scrapbook - Hugh Salvin Calverley Details
Letter – I am getting my teeth done – December 22, 1914
St. George’s Square

Dear Mum

I am getting my teeth done. McPherson – clos’ together, and getting paid $1.75 a day for it ever since I was gazetted, (on Dec 7). I went to the National Gallery with Gran, all the good pics are safely in the vaults underneath and only the rubbish, (comparatively), from the top is on view. The watercolours were closed, also the Pall Mall watercolour exhibition. They had one or two beautiful pics out: the one you painted, and a Botticelli or two, no Leonardo’s and only the one Raphael, a few of the Spanish ones of animals, and some funny old Dutch Ladies.

Gran walks upstairs faster since I have come and is lively as a cricket, full of war news. She devours the papers, rejoices when another trench has been captured or blown up, holds up paws at the German atrocities, says nothing when we blow up a town, condoning it. My uniform is most smart and spick and span, made of whipcord.

I go to see Uncle Horace at 11 tomorrow, the dentist at 10, the gym at 12, lunch with Mr. Jones at 1, a show “Peg o’ my Heart” at 2.30, tea with Kitty Ouless at 5.00. Quite a day of it. I go to a show “The Man who Stayed at Home” with Aunt Sybil on Thursday, Friday being Christmas. I go to Harwich on Sunday afternoon to start work again.

I am loving Gran’s green sand collection, and finding out what is what about them. You know it, the Cambridge. . . diggings collection which Grandfather made when he was twenty or so. There are tiny little chalky skulls the size of a pinhead, sea slugs and ammonites and all kinds of snail shells.

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