Dearest Mother

Every day at 11 am they feed me and egg flip and at 7 pm a glass of port wine.

This is the treatment I get. They don't dress my wounds cause there aint nothin to dress. In front just a round black scab about the size of the bullet - behind I haven't seen. We are right on the sea coast so the remainder of my treatment concists of taking large gulps of fresh air & trying to recover the use of my wounded lung. Its coming back to its own very quickly too. The Doctor said this morning that he would send me along to Blighty soon but that's probably camouflage to keep me quiet.

I had a long dream about the Col coming to see me and that he had recommended me to be Mjr in place of poor Limmell but both are extremely improbable. Capt Burley says my name appeared in the times as a Major Wounded. It might be a forerunner of the truth.

Gee I am sleepy. I shall write you every day or so in the meantime keep on writing me at the Union.

Yours lovingly
Gordon