First World War Poetry Digital Archive

The Letter

THE LETTER by WILFRED OWEN With B.E.F. June 10. Dear Wife, (Oh blast this pencil. 'Ere, Bill, lend's a knife.) I'm in the pink at present, dear. I think the war will end this year. We don't see much of them square-'eaded 'Uns. We're out of harm's way, not bad fed. I'm longing for a taste of your old buns. (Say, Jimmie, spare's a bite of bread.) There don't seem much to say just now. (Yer what? Then don't, yer ruddy cow! And give us back me cigarette!) I'll soon be 'ome. You mustn't fret. My feet's improvin', as I told you of. We're out in rest now. Never fear. (VRACH! By crumbs, but that was near.) Mother might spare you half a sov. Kiss Nell and Bert. When me and you--- (Eh? What the 'ell! Stand to? Stand to! Jim, give's a hand with pack on, lad. Guh! Christ! I'm hit. Take 'old. Aye, bad. No, damn your iodine. Jim? 'Ere! Write my old girl, Jim, there's a dear.)


“The Letter,” by Owen, Wilfred (1893-1918). The Estate of Wilfred Owen. The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen edited by Jon Stallworthy first published by Chatto & Windus, 1983. Preliminaries, introductory, editorial matter, manuscripts and fragments omitted. via First World War Poetry Digital Archive, accessed February 20, 2024,

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