[1 Feb 1945]
It looks as if I have been talking in a delirium. It is understandable that I thought I was home – God knows I ought to have been. Any bloody way I’m still waiting for a sanguinary plane and none is in sight. Oh Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?
All my little fums are to be so much air and fantasy, my little desires to be monuments of futility, and any welcomes to be jeering nothings.
I’ve given up predicting my arrival – it rests in the lap of the Lodestars.
What’s the point of my writing about nothing but sitting down near the strip waiting for a kite?
I hope I’ll be seeing my family one of these days. Teach little Graham to speak nicely and to think well of his old pa overseas. Be faithful dear, we shall soon start life anew.
Your old old husband, Remember?
That was Bill’s last letter. It is estimated he made it home by Sunday, 4 February 1945