3rd September, 1937
I expect this letter will find you submerged in your studies and not drinking wine by the bucket-load.
I write to inform you that I have met a young lady whom I intend to marry (stop laughing) and she is utterly plain and stupid but she smokes a pipe like a man (I mean it, stop laughing) and I find that rather endearing. Also, she actually agreed to marry me so that increased her favourable standing with me quite considerably.
I also intend to let this put an end to my whorish ways. I know you may feel disappointed with this, being that you live your life quite vicariously through my escapades, but there comes a time in a man’s life when he must put down some roots and let them grow, if only to stop his step-mother from badgering him into an early grave.
I write this note from a village in Lichtenstein (more on that story later) so obviously the putting down of roots will begin as soon as I return to England. It absolutely will. Really Genie, you must put more faith in me. All right, I’ll start in the new year. 1938 will be the year I become a respectable gentleman.
You know you’ll always be my favourite girl though,
PS: Today is eight years since that awful day. I haven’t forgotten. I do hope you aren’t moping about the place with your brain lodged hopelessly in the past. She wouldn’t have wanted that.