Work Text:
Dearest Mum:
How are you? I am fine. I got shot yesterday and practically bled to death, but Troy & Hitch kidnapped a donor and I'm OK now. Write soon.
Dearest Mum:
How are you? I am fine. You remember when Dad said I should take Aramaic instead of Coptic? Well, he was right. But the doctors said nothing was actually broken and I'm back on duty now.
Love to all--Jack.
Dear Son:
Your father has just come back from seeing you. Can you explain why he's lost weight? He has some unusual bruises too, and a rather scruffy beard. He says that you'd put on weight. I've warned you about Army food.
Much love, Mother.
Dearest Mum:
How are you? I am fine. Well, I have a little concussion from a gunshot wound, and the sunstroke didn't help, but the only thing that really hurts is a broken ankle. You should see the pretty nurse I'm dictating this to!
Love to all -- Jack.
Dear Son:
Army nurses? The same nurse each time or are you running a harem? Your fiancee wants to know that you mean by all these nurses. Oh, I know your understanding with her isn't formal, but it is accepted back here, so hurry back before she gets involved with the Americans who are building an aerodrome nearby. I believe that a pilot named Troy has been assigned there. Is he related to yours?
Love, Mother
Dearest Mum:
How are you? I am fine. I got to watch my own funeral last week! It was a thrill. I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn't just been interrogated and shot, but nothing's perfect.
Love to all--Jack.
Dearest Mum:
How are you? I am fine. I continue to have fantastic luck; I did get beaten up twice in about half an hour, but my fellow prisoner was a nurse! Then DELETED BY GOVERNMENT CENSORS saved both the nurse and me, and we're all OK, if somewhat puzzled.
Love to all--Jack.
Dear Son:
I am sorry to have to write this to you, since I know you have a dangerous job, but your fiancee has eloped with a Polish flyer. I know that you will be disappointed but keep a stiff upper lip. I will find you someone else. When will you be back from all that sand? I'm sure it's not good for your complexion.
Love, Mother
Dearest Mum:
I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I can guess that you expected to lose a son to this war, but somehow I always thought it would be me. I wish I could be there with you now.
Love, Jack.
Dear Son:
We buried your brother last week in the family plot. The vicar gave a nice reading. At the wake, everyone wanted to know how you were and if you'd found a nice girl. I couldn't find your letters but your father seemed to heard things I hadn't. Have you been writing separately to your father? Keep safe.
Much love, Mother.