My Dearest Heart,
 

      Thank you, thank you, thank you for your lovely long letter. I keep it in the top left pocket of my battle jacket – I take it out and read it again and again, whenever we get some minutes’ peace from the ghastly day-and-night shelling.
 

But I don’t want you to think about that.
 

I’m not so good at writing, as you know and I hope you understand, so this will be shorter.

I can’t tell you exactly where I am – the censor, Jim (a good chap) wouldn’t allow it. Just that I wish I was with you, in our little orchard back home.

Strangely, my Darling, I'm glad that you're not with me - it's a hell-hole!
 

By the way, how are the russet apples doing? Remember how we picked up all the windfalls before I left? The cider was terrible! Oh, Edi . . .

The boys have been great – do you know, they ask me about you and how you are, when I know they have their own sweethearts to worry about.

Mind you, theirs can’t be anything like you, because you’re an Angel -  and don’t forget it!

Harris, bless him, says we’re going to push south tomorrow, if tomorrow ever comes . . . 

To be honest, Edi, I’ve had enough of this winter – I know it’s spring now, and birds are supposed to be singing, but it’s beginning to affect everyone’s spirits . . .

I must stop now, my Darling – it’s my turn for first-watch duties and I don’t want to let the lads down.
 

Just a final thought, my Love, and I know you might think I’m being silly . . . 

Remember the song we danced to once, in the officers’ mess in Cholesbury?

“Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me, anyone else but me, anyone else but me.”

Please don’t, Edi! I worry about you and us, that’s all.

So much endless love,
 

Yours for always and forever,

Ted

XXX oxo

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Edith held Edward’s letter up to the light, a 40-watt naked bulb.
She could still see light through the creases . . .

Did it need any more repairs? It was a little yellower, and more brittle – even the sellotape was beginning to yellow and peel.

She switched on the television to catch the end of the news, not that she cared much.

And tonight’s summary – an eighteen-year-old girl has gone missing after a reported bombing in Iraq, in which her fiancé is said to have been amongst the casualties.
 

Edith picked up her stick and gripped it, preparing for the journey to bed and to some sort of sleep.
 

Anyone with information regarding her disappearance on Friday May 11th is asked to contact their local police station immediately. For a full update, please tune in tomorrow at 5.00 a.m..
 

Goodnight from me and all of us here on the news team for London South-East.

Edith was half-way across the living room, dancing with Ted in a poppy field in France, trampling on the flowers in Love’s careless abandon.

She kissed his letter for the ten thousandth time.

“Goodnight, my Love.”

“Goodnight!” she said to the flickering screen, not wishing to appear rude.