Dear Mom, Dad & All:-

It's Friday night and has been raining cats and dogs since yesterday with no sign of a let-up.  I left my flashlight home and coming home tonight it was so black you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.  I stayed over to work on my radio so it's now about eleven-thirty.
     I was down to London last week and to pick up my overcoat and do a few other odd jobs.  Went down Friday night and came back Sunday morning.  It was pouring rain when we got in to London, but cleared up Saturday and the sun came out.  After completing my business I had lunch and then went out to Tottenham to see Evelyn, the girl I met at the wedding.  We had a fine home cooked high tea, supper to you yanks, and than decided to go to a show.  Evelyn's folks told me they would put me up for the night, which was okay with me and we went out.  There was a queque (maybe that's how you spell it) of about two hundred in front of one theater so we walked on to another.  The same state of affairs existed there, so I went up and asked the fellow at the door if there were any seats at any price.  He said there was standing room only at 2 and 6 (50 cents) so I said, "Let's go! and grab a seat when someone leaves".  We walked into the box office and I got the tickets.  As we left the box office the manager said to me, "Come right this way, Sir, we'd like you to be our special guest tonight and I think I can fix you up to your satisfaction."  He than took us up the side to a box beside the balcony with two nice wicker easy chairs in it, helped me off with my coat and hung it up and adjusted our chairs for us and buzzed off.  Must have been the first visit he'd had from an American officer.  Sure shook me, as they say over here.  The picture was "Ten Men of West Point" and not bad.  We walked back home when it was over and I was certainly agreeably surprised to walk in (about ten-thirty) and find the table set for a late supper of salad tomatoes, lettuce, pickled beats, carrots, cold meat, bread & butter, cheese, bread & jam, and, of course, tea.  After supper we sat around and chewed the fat for a while and than hit the hay.  Evelyn's dad had laid out a pair of his pajama's for me.  I had left mine at the Eagle Club, so I was all set.
     Evelyn's dad works for the London Transport as a driver, or something, and her mother is now working in a factory on war work of some kind.  Evelyn herself is a clerk in the shipping dept. of some sort or other.  She has a younger sister about Jerry's age who is working in a store, and two brothers about the age of the Cane boys.  They were evacuated to Cornwall somewhere during the blitz, but have since returned and are going to school.  That I guess sums up the family.  They showed me the dug out with concrete floor and steel top they used as an air raid shelter during the blitz.  It's in the back yard and not a particularly cheerful spot to have slept in for four months while Jerry tried to remove London from the map.  Their home is the average working man's home not much different from ours and you'll find a thousand or more families just like them in St. Paul.
     Mr. Humphrey (Evelyn's dad) awakened me in the morning with a cup of tea and some biscuits (cookies to you, like arrowroot) and after consuming them I arose and performed the usual ablutions and came downstair.  Mrs. Humphrey was bustling around getting breakfast and in a few minutes the whole family was down.  We sat down to a typically English breakfast of bacon and fried sliced tomatoes, rolls and butter, apple sauce, jam and tea.   Mrs. Humphrey fixed me a couple of lettuce, cheese and tomato sandwiches to take along and Evelyn and I set out for downtown.  We stopped at the Eagle Club for my bag and then went down to the train.  Met two other officers who had gone down, too, and soon was speeding on my way back to my station, after a final farewell to Evelyn.  It certainly was a pleasant weekend.  I arrived back in the afternoon and went right back to work, as we have Saturdays off instead of  Sundays here.
     The rest of the week has passed uneventfully except for one thing.  I haven't been getting much mail and thought something must be wrong.  I had only received Dad's letter since coming back here.  Monday morning I want over to the RAF Headquarters for my mail and low and behold!  there were fifteen letters for me.  Boy, that shook me 'til I looked at the postmarks, Arts letter of July 22, the V mail letters from Art and Mary, Pete, and Mom, all dated in early September, Mom's long letter of  September 9th, a V mail from Warren Spencer, two letters from Lorna and four or five others from various parts of England and Scotland.  It seems there was a mixup here over my changed status and everything had been sent back to CTC Hqtrs. from here, than to the Army Post Office, from whence they had come originally and then back here again.  Art's letter made the round trip twice.  Well!!   I saw to it that that won't happen again.  I was busy half the afternoon reading letters.
     You asked about a thousand questions in the letters, some of which I have probably answered in my previous ones, but I'll try and get all of them answered now in order.

     1.  I did visit the Dulleas and all of them too, but evidently you didn't get that part of the story, so will rewrite as much of it as I can remember in the near future.
    2.  My only address is AP0 640 US Army and I'm not allowed to receive mail or packages from any other source.  However, any of those you sent me addressed as CTC 314 c/o The American Eagle Club will reach me okay as they will change the fowardlng address there so I won't get into trouble because of that.  My cable address has been changed to AMGIBO PLATFORM instead of ambiho platform as formerly.   Most of my mail is censored.
   3.  I can get wool socks, handkerchiefs, etc, from the Post Exchange here quite cheap so you needn't send me any.  I can also get all toilet articles, a small ration of candy (4 oz. a week), cigarettes for 12 cents a package and other similar articles.
   4. Tell Art I'm still interested in photography and while the opportunities are rather limited I still take pictures and have a camera permit.  He can send me the meter.
   5. McIlwralths address is:
Rev. McIlwralth
68 Hamilton Place
Aberdeen,  Scotland.
Lorna's home address is:
Miss Lorna B. Dyson
11 The Promenade
Consett,  County Durham,  England. 
Send mail there.
  6.  Beekman is still in the CTC.  He is too old for the Army.  Haven't had any reply to my last letter some months ago,  but heard he is doing all right from his former C.O. (Commanding Officer).
  7.  One of my own.  What is this "Honor Roll" at St. Johns?

 8.  Received the pictures of Gen. McArthur, O.K.  I guess that covers most of them that I can think of now.
     It's rather chilly here now.  Last night I got in at ten o'clock and when I went in to take my bath the thermometer in the bathroom, for taking the temperature of the bath water I suppose, stood at 53 above zero.  After I had drawn the water it rose to 54 and when I climbed out of the tub it had reached an all time high of 57.  The room was filled with a cloud of steam all the time as it kept rising from the tub because of the difference of temperature.  Offices over here are only heated to 65.  However, I'm getting acclimated.  I've been writing here for about two hours now in my room, and my hands are getting pretty cold so don't be too critical of the penmanship.  The temperature is about 54.  This isn't entirely normal though, but the coal and fuel saving campaign is still on to save fuel for the war industries.  There is a fireplace in my room and in peace time a nice coal fire would be going in it.  We've got to take our hats off to the English people for the sacrifices they've made to stay in this war.
     I'm going to London soon again-to get my second uniform which will be finished shortly and will have my picture taken and send it to you.  Also am going to have one of the boys take some of me with my camera if we ever have a clear day on our day off.  My present uniform needs a bit of cleaning at the moment.  It takes two or three weeks to get anything cleaned or washed here so you need a good supply of everything.
Well it's too d--- cold to write anymore so I'm going to bed.

                             Goodnight all,

                                          Thatch.