Letter sent on 30 Sep 1927 from Luxor, Egypt

Dear Wedgy,

Sorry I haven't written for while but I have been otherwise engaged and you'll never guess by what. Bunty, that complete arse of a cousin of mine is over staying with me. You remember him, short, thick and annoying; the sort of chap that bumbles around chaotically like a whirlwind causing untold damage and carnage and then walks away unscathed. He is staying at the behest of my mother as a favour to my auntie for 3 months. They seem to think he could be helpful. And he would be, if only I were in the demolition business. Sadly his brand of idiocy and simple minded clumsiness are not the qualities I look for when dealing with fragile artefacts which are several thousand years old.

On more than one occasion, I have felt the overwhelming urge to clasp my hands around his neck and squeeze very hard. Fortunately for Bunty he has a neck akin very much in size and durability to that of a Rhino. Should he ever face the prospect of the hangman's noose, then I have no doubt that the rope will yield before he does. Knowing my luck, instead of trying out other methods of execution, the law would classify his neck as an act of God and he would be allowed to go free. Still, only another 2 months, 3 weeks and 5 days.

Do hope you and yours are well.

Write soon.

Jack

Letter from Cairo to Mr Andrew Langton on 9 Sep 1927.

Dear Langers,

I hope this letter finds you both well. Sorry for not writing for a while but things have become unpleasantly complicated over the last few weeks. It all started when out of the blue, I received a letter of introduction from Auntie Jane regarding Bunty which was quite unnecessary as I know him well and any attempt to portray him as anything else than a cretin and a buffoon can only be greeted with derision. In response to this, I wrote to Ma Ma to ask her why it had been sent to me. I said to her, 'Why it almost seems to be some kind of request for a job which makes little sense as I am of course studying hard as Papa always wanted and not employed in any kind of work of any kind. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain in the next letter.'

She did explain. Apparently Lottie had let slip at the Wedding during one of her drunk but talkatively conscious moments, that I was running a small but profitable business in Cairo. My mother, never one to miss a trick, in one statement said that my father was never to know if my studies continued well and in the second statement, informed me that cousin Bunty was coming over to help with the business to ensure my studies didn't suffer.

I was about to march out to the telegraph office to send a violent exclamation of protest but for the fact that the overgrown, underdeveloped Darwinian throwback was stood outside my door. Unfortunately I had not had time to pack away all the valuables and secure all breakables. Consequently I have been spending the last three weeks clearing up after him as you would a child. If I hear him say "What's this for," followed by an ear splitting crash once more, I shall commit murder according to strict legal interpretation and putting him out of his misery by anyone else's interpretation.

I pray that your life is kinder and simpler than mine.

Fond regards,

Jack.

Letter from Cairo to Mr Andrew Langton, London, dated 6 Aug 1927

Dear Langers,

Thank you for your letter. I'm glad you approved of the wedding gift. You can call it art or an antique if you like and it is indeed both of those things but it is also promotes fertility. I'm assuming that being a man of God, you will want to be getting straight to business of having a son and heir and not just simply practising for years to hone the technique if you get my meaning.

Just wanted to say, super knees up the wedding. Wonderful ceremony, the bride looked radiant and the food was really the crow's toes. The groom was a little underwhelming though but then I always said Kitty was too good for you. Lottie enjoyed herself as you no doubt heard. Desperation manifests itself in such diverse ways. Auntie is still clinging on to the vane hope that the two of them will get together but apart from a couple of further ill advised drunken escapades, they have not been seen together since. Lottie as you know is quite a spirited old girl and tends to do what she feels without any particular regard for social etiquette. Bunty is just glad to be able to take what he can get. Lottie called him very sweet the last time they met. That's the kiss of death for any relationship. All has gone quiet now but that leaves me uneasy. No one is talking about it at home; in fact they are going out of their way not to talk about it in public which means they are talking about it in private; planning, conniving and conspiring.
Oh call me paranoid if you will, but mark my words, something is up and when something is up, that's usually really bad news for me.

Let me know if you hear anything.

All the best to you and Kitty.

Jack,

Letter from Cairo on 16 Jul 1927

Dear Wedgey,

Sorry we didn't see you at the wedding. Awfully back luck old man, wrapping your new car round that police officer. Many apologies also that it's been so long since I wrote you, or indeed anyone. I only got back to Cairo on Monday after spending eight weeks at home much to the annoyance of my tutor and my father but the delight of my mother.

I must say you missed a corking wedding. The Wedding itself went off without much of a hitch but nevertheless, there was plenty to keep us entertained, even if it was unintentional. See through Charlie has now been renamed See-round Charlie on account of the fact that he has for the first time in his twenty-eight years put on weight, a considerable amount of weight in fact. So much so that when stood by the window at the reception, he blocked out most of the light and had to be asked to move by the photographer.

Langers, slightly the worst for wear, called out a different name during the exchanging of the vowels at which point the whole congregation gasped in horror, only for the groom to turn round irritatedly and point out that he had said one of  Kitty's middle names first instead of her forename; she does after all have about six and that's a challenge for any man. Add to this, the fact that Kitty is her third second name and it's no wonder that the old man got confused, sober or in this case otherwise. You would have thought that the vicar might have helped out and prompted him, but he was left to struggle on alone until Kitty very sportingly too over from him, handing over only for the obligatory 'I do's'. We later found out that the vicar used to be an old flame of Kitty's and the flame was not quite spent in him.

The real highlight of the day or lowlight though, depending on your point of view was Lottie's antics. I spent two days with her shopping in London and wandering round the Botanical Gardens in Kew to cheer her up. In the end she found her own way of finding solace by sloping off during the ceremony with a bottle of wine only to be discovered a couple of hours later in a cupboard and in a very compromising position with Cousin Bunty all people. Bunty! I mean for God's sake, how low can the old girl go. I was expecting her to pull something off , but Bunty? There were large numbers of fine prostrate men in various states of inebriation to choose from and she chose Bunty!

As you can imagine, all hell let loose. They're not related by blood or anything but they are family. Auntie Jane (Bunty's mother) as you can imagine, took a very firm line and said that they both now had to get married to save both their's and the family's blushes, not that either of them were in the slightest embarrassed by the escapade. Lottie slurred that it was just a bit of fun.
My Aunt was very set on the idea because the dignity of the family had to be preserved and for the first time since he was born, a girl had shown the vaguest albeit heavily influenced, interest in Bunty and this was the best shot she had at marrying him off. My Uncle (Lottie's father) then promptly swore at Aunt Jane and strode off in the direction of the bar. Aunt Jane then turned to Lottie and cried, "You silly, stupid girl. What if you get pregnant?"
Lottie stood there swaying in the breeze and thought for a moment and then slurred, I'm no expert in ana-, anata- anatalo-," she took a big sigh, "bodies, but I do know that you can't get pregnant with your tonsils!"
At first Aunt Jane seemed puzzled and then disgusted as Lottie's words gained form and meaning. Seeing the chance to marry her unique offspring off slipping away and suddenly being confronted with an unnecessarily detailed account of her son's sexual encounter,  she shouted 'Harlot!' At which point Lottie corrected her and cried "It's pronounced Harlow!", before spinning on her heels, almost falling over in the process and flouncing of after her father in the direction of the bar.

So that was the floor show, played out in front of small pockets of people throughout the hotel, rather like street theatre as the players moved the drama from one place to another, taking the action from room to room. It's taken weeks for things to calm down and for people to start talking to each other. And in the middle of all this, I had an unexpected encounter myself.

As the Wedding evening wore on, the guests melted away and all that were left were cads, women of questionable virtue and of course myself, sitting with my feet propped up on the table with a whisky in my hand and my bow-tie now undone and draped loosely around my neck. The band played in the background and women draped themselves on the men on the dance floor and in some cases men were draped on women who staggered under the weight. All of a sudden, my whisky glass was taken from my hand, placed gently onto the table next to me and a slim but shapely silhouette grabbed my other hand and encouraged me to my feet. Being slightly the worse for wear myself I complied and was lead onto the dance floor. The lighting was now quite low, no doubt to spare the blushes of the guest who were left, as was my own visual acuity and I couldn't see the face of the lady I now had in my arms but I could feel her. She stood very close with her head upon my chest and my right arm was around her curvaceous figure, whilst my left felt the warm, smooth skin of her shoulder which poked out from her dress. We danced together for it must have been two to three songs, then she turned, kissed me and was gone. I caught only a glimpse of a red satin dress and dark hair as she left and at breakfast, I asked my host and a couple of other guests if they knew who she was. No one did and inevitably many assumed that I had imagined it and that it had all been part of a drunken stupor. But I tell you it was no dream.

Anyway, hope you and your fiancee are on the mend.

All the best.

Your chum, Jack.

(Editor - although most guests could not recall, further research reveals that the lady in question did actually exist. One male guest recalls in his journal, a 'beautiful creature wearing a red dress who arrived late in the evening and didn't like men.' Distinguishing features, apart from dark hair and ruby red lips were reported to be a heart shaped tattoo just over the right breast. Baring in mind the dimness of the light and reading between the lines, we must assume that the guest in question got pretty close to view the tattoo and his advances were not altogether well received.)

Letter from Cairo, dated 12 May 1927 to Miss Charlotte Harlot (pronounced Harlow)

Dearest Cousin Lottie,

How are you, old thing? Thanks for your letter. Completely unexpected as was the unique mottling effect on the paper which I deduce by the general tone of the letter and the sharp jaunty handwriting was caused by tears and unbridled sobbing.

Look, I know you were fond of Langers but lets put things into perspective: 1) He's not dead and 2) You know his reputation; he was always a cad of the first order and I'm saying this as his friend. When we were at school together, he used to leave a trail of inconsolable girls and human wrecks in his wake. Poor unfortunate creatures whom he had just used and mercilessly thrown away. It took a women like Kitty with a will of iron, an inheritance the size of Monaco's national budget and the seclusion of the middle of the African jungle, well away from any living, breathing female (human or otherwise) to tame him or at least restrain him. Though I am not convinced that his condition is irreversible given the wrong person, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Before you get any thoughts, you are not that person. You may not have an older brother but I am the next best thing. I've always watched out for you since we were little. I've lost count of the number of times I've been punched in the face because of you. Don't let my caved in nasal crypts and my subsided septum be in vane.

Besides, you're only twenty three. Look at me! I'm twenty seven, still studying, with no career and no girl to hang on my arm of an evening. No girl for me to drag to remote parts of the globe where white people are seldom seen by the indigenous population and are either feared, revered or possibly eaten. (I've yet to find a place that offers straight uncomplicated crossbreeding - fear, loathing and hunger are the most common responses but I digress).  Wedgy on the other hand has a thriving career in politics, drives the bees knees of cars, and is engaged to a top notch girl. Then there's Langers and even Charlie! See-through Charlie! The boy who always won Hide and Seek by standing behind standard lamps, sign posts and clinging to the sides of banisters. Even in his painfully thin and emaciated state, he has still managed to get hooked up with a young lady who is very happy with him and whom he is thinking of settling down with. He's even put on a bit of weight around the ears I believe.

What I'm trying to say, is that there will be other far more dashing, reliable chaps out there, desperate to meet a corker of a girl like you. Just don't go to the wedding, get drunk and end up snogging the groom. That can only lead to misery and despair. Besides, I'm told Kitty has a wicked right hook!

I'm back a couple of days before the main event so why don't we spend some time away from the house, just the two of us; preferably with a not so light lunch and refreshments courtesy of the Mouldy Truckle. It's either that, or breaking your teeth on Mama's patented fruit scones and burning the stomach linings with one of her rather austere jams. See you then.

Love and best wishes,

Jack.

Letter from Cairo dated 6th May 1927 addressed to Mr Andrew Langton

Dear Langers,

How are the wedding preparations going? We are very much looking forward to the auspicious occasion. Mother has bought yet another new hat even though she's not on the invite list (she needs very little excuse), Wedgy plans to roll up in his new Rolls and Seethrough Charlie has gone for a  fitted white suit. I fear however that with his gaunt, thin frame, he risks looking somewhat less than dashing and more like a desiccated corpse wrapped in a funerary shroud. Cousin Lottie on the other hand has taken the news very badly. Auntie says she hasn't been out of her room for days and puts it down to the old girl feeling that she's been left on the shelf . I on the other hand have a different theory. I have long suspected and shared with you the possibility she has always carried a torch for you. Between you and me and Kitty if she's reading this, I think you picked the right girl. One would have to be constantly fitted with earplugs and a possess a constitution of iron to endure Lottie's laugh which alternates between, snorting, braying and bleating. An hour in my cousin's company is like a day on the farm.

Anyway, I am just making final preparations to return to old Blighty. My tutor Dr Blomqvist is less than happy as we have just discovered a new site down in the banks of the Nile. As some small compensation, I have promised to do some research on Friezes and Cornices at the British library and to bring him back some books that he needs. I have also promised to bring back some decent whisky for an old retired RAF officer that I met at a bar. Pleasant enough old chap; well fed, ruddy faced with a huge white moustache. Apparently he was a flying ace in the Great War. You may have heard of him; Wing Commander Reginald T. Flatterblatter. I said to him, "With any luck in a few years they might allow you to command the whole plane." He was less than amused until I thrust a large scotch in front of him and then suddenly he perked up. Now we regularly meet up and discuss the good old days (his, not mine). After a tiring day digging through the dust and dirt, it is quite relaxing listening to someone prattle on and not have to join in. Rather like listening to the wireless.

Anyway all the best to you both. See you in a couple of weeks.

Best regards.

Jack.

Letter from Cairo dated 28th April 1927 addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous

Dear Mama

I hope you and Papa are well. I'm glad to hear that the weather has been unseasonably hot and sunny. Long may it continue. Hopefully the regrettable incident regarding the substitution of a piece of glass in the church window with a small lens and the resulting scorch marks on Reverend Thorne's  shiny pate have now been largely forgotten. It's strange; that lens must have been there for some considerable time. You'd almost be forgiven for thinking that someone had deliberately placed it there at the exact point where the sun would hit the very place where the very reverend stands. One can only surmise the motives behind such a calculated action but the long tedious, narcoleptic sermons interjected by spasms of fire and brimstone to keep the adults awake and ensure that children never sleep again must surely be a strong contender. I wonder what went through his mind when it happened? Did he perceive and was filled with the white hot all embracing power of the lord almighty or the burning, fiery clutches of the netherworld pressing a thumb on his scalp and marking him as its own.

Anyway on to the reason why I am writing. I will be home on the 6th of June and staying for a week. The Wedding is in Guildford on the Saturday so I should have enough time to pick up some essential supplies for my return. Have invited cousin Lottie over as she will also be attending. I assume she will be staying in one of the guest rooms overlooking the, in which case please do not put her in the one with grandpapa's old hunting trophies. As you know, she does not agree with the killing animals and does not eat meet so to put her in that room would be akin to putting up the guest bed in the town's abattoir.

Look forward to seeing you all in a couple of weeks.

All my love.

Jack.

Letter from Cairo dated 22nd April 1927

Dearest Mama,

I trust you are both well. Wedgy told me that you had been having a spot of bother with a rogue badger. Why a badger would seek solace in Cook's undergarments is anyone's guess. True, they are extraordinarily generous in size, in order to accommodate a rump seldom seen outside the occupants of a dairy farm and the weather has been ghastly as I understand it, so maybe it was looking for warmth and shelter. I can only guess how Cook reacted when she found the creature wrapped up in it, in the washing basket. To then give chase after the creature bolted with the garments trailing behind it, must have been a sight to behold. Apparently the Gardener needed to douse her in water at the end to stop her overheating; a situation very similar to that of the foaming hide of a horse after it has completed a steeplechase under the baking hot sun I imagine, though she is no thoroughbred by any means.

In fact, the appearance of Cook with her unique countenance, graceless poise and thunderous demeanour was always guaranteed to strike fear in the bravest of hearts in any situation. The creature was fortunate not to have been caught. It wouldn't have surprised me if she would have put it in the pot for Sunday lunch with papa being none the wiser despite picking out Badger hairs from between his teeth.

Nothing exciting happening here except a minor uprising. Happens every week. I say uprising but it was more of show of solidarity and strength against the authorities which demonstrated ironically very little strength or solidarity as only five chaps turned up. I understand there were to be more but there was some confusion as to where they were meeting up, so ten ended up waiting in a shop drinking coffee. The five ringleaders on the other hand ran into the market place, brandishing swords, shouting angrily at the bustling market only to bump into a large battalion of heavily armed British soldiers, at which point they lowered their swords and sauntered off quietly into the crowd. All in all, a bit underwhelming but the swordplay was just magnificent.

Just to let you know,  I will be coming home in a couple of weeks. Bunty is getting married! Yes, who'd have thought it. Anyway, will send a telegram when I have a firm date so that you can get my room ready.

Your ever loving son,

Jack

Letter dated 1st April to Mr Andrew Langton from Cairo

Dear Langers,

Great news! The large Bunty shaped threat has suddenly receded. Actually when I say great, I mean good because it's only a temporary reprieve. But really when you think about it, it's not that good either as it is inevitable that he will come over at some time. In fact it's more like being granted leave to appeal against a sentence to the gallows knowing that it is a wholly futile gesture. To be honest then, it's bloody awful news.
I would rewrite this letter but I'm running out of writing paper and papyrus doesn't react well to being folded and stuffed into an envelope, so I'm afraid this will have to do.

Let's move on to something more cheerful. Delighted to hear about your planned and impending nuptials. She's a corker as I've always said and it's about time you two got knotted. I would be delighted to join you for the big day. No problem at my end regarding the venue. A trip back to Blighty will be just the ticket as I can drop in on Mumsy and collect some urgent supplies before my return. I am badly running out of paper of another kind and once again Papyrus is not a good substitute, although I have tried; Couldn't sit down for a week with all the paper cuts. Let me know what you want for a wedding present by the way. In the mean time, I will try to find a lady to accompany me; not easy stuck in Cairo with my time split between earning some serious cash and an ever demanding tutor. He's threatened to take me to a dig so that I can help him excavate a large amount of dirt to unearth some dusty ancient relics. Not really my caper. I prefer watching someone else shovel through mountains of dirt with their eyes red and stinging from the dust, someone else to then clean up the relic and then pass it on to me to sell to a museum. Apparently that doesn't count as archeology but it does count as good business sense.

Best wishes.

Jack

Telegrams dated between 20th and 26th March 1927, addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous

Telegram dated 20th March 1927, addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous

Dear Mama STOP
Do not send Bunty over here under any circumstances STOP
Dengue fever is rife STOP
If the doctor wishes to send him somewhere hot suggest the Sahara STOP
Please also send over foot balm STOP
Stubbed my toe on a Welshman STOP
Love Jack STOP

Telegram Dated 23rd March 1927, addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous.

To Mama STOP
What a stroke of luck Bunty's doctor being an expert in tropical diseases STOP
Pity he isn't an expert in conditions of the mind or he would surely consider him unfit to travel STOP
I admit that I hadn't heard of Dengue fever in Cairo either STOP
New strain apparently STOP
Will send a case back with Bunty for him to peer over his glasses at STOP

Regards Jack STOP

Telegram dated 26th March 1927 addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous

Dear Mama STOP
Distressed to hear that Bunty no longer coming STOP
For the best, I'm sure STOP
No sign of foot balm STOP
Toe has gone black STOP

Loving son Jack STOP

Letter dated 15 th March 1927 to Mr Andrew Langton

Dear Langers,

The threads of my life seem to be converging at one single point with the sole and express purpose of eliciting exquisite annoyance and unparalleled irritation. You remember how I told you that my Auntie had started becoming uncharacteristically nice to me; well since then, my cretinous cousin Bunty has written, or should I rather say, drawn to me for the first time in fifteen years and my mother has been conspiratorially in cahoots with my Auntie which is never a good sign. I had a suspicion that something was up but I couldn't put my finger on it so up until now, I have been enjoying the hampers Auntie sent to me and revelling in the idiocy of my cousin and the several thousand miles between us.

Then it arrived this morning; the gathering storm, the fly in my ointment, the turd in my bathwater. A letter, but not just any letter. A letter from my mother informing me that Buntie was in ill health and that he will be coming to stay with me. Apparently he is under doctor's orders to leave England and take a trip to the sun. Sounds like a good wheeze. I might pay this doctor a visit myself and see if he can prescribe a trip to the Bahamas for me to recuperate from some fictional tropical disease whilst Bunty comes here. My mother is insisting that he come over as soon as possible as there is a influenza epidemic in England and he might catch it in his weakened state. You've met him. What about me! What if I catch something?

Mother has threatened to reduce my allowance if I resist. Fortunately the new business is taking off rather well and I have now moved into trading and shipping of ancient artefacts. All legal and above board and nothing big you know, just a few small trinkets but they seem to sell. If Bunty comes over, I can say goodbye to all that as he has a mouth the size of a small mine shaft and cannot be trusted to keep confidence. No doubt the whole setup will be blabbed to my mother in a telegram together with perfuse and stomach churning thanks for sending here in the first place. No, I will have to find some cunning way of putting him (and her) off.

I'm meeting up with my tutor tomorrow to review my research so far. Could be a very short meeting.

Hope you and Kitty are well.

All the best.

Jack.

Letter sent on 3rd March 1927 to "Bunty"

Dear Bunty,

Thanks ever so for the letter. I have to admit that your handwriting with it's trademark style similar to a woodlouse wandering through a blob of ink style was hard to read at first but the drawings really helped. I particularly liked the one of the barmaid who has caught your eye. Very life like and no doubt anatomically accurate.

Thank you also for the packet of bacon from your finest butcher in Scunthorpe. No doubt it is a rare treat indeed when fresh but sadly its appeal has somewhat waned after a ten day journey by boat. Nevertheless, I appreciated the sentiment and the swarm of flies which accompanied it.

Regarding the questions you posed in your letter, let me answer them in order:

No.
Absolutely not.
Don't you dare.
Over my dead body or yours.

Please do not feel in anyway obliged to correspond to me in the near future; say the next twenty years.

Lukewarm regards.

Jack.

(Editor's note: It may appear to the uninitiated, that in correspondence, Jack is excessively cruel to Bunty but the two do have history together as later correspondence will reveal. Unfortunately Bunty was not a popular fellow either in public or private life, leading one deeply inebriated journalist to once comment that Bunty "took the C##t out of Scunthorpe when he left." An unpleasant comment, but one the captured the popular mood nonetheless."

Letter Dated 27th February 1927, Cairo

Dear Mama,

This morning, I received a letter from Bunty of all people. Bunty!! It came as something of a surprise, that he knew how to hold the pencil the right way up and slide it along the paper to make a discernible mark, let alone form letters into recognisable words that then miraculously fit them together to create sentences that one could understand. True the niceties were missing like those little words that make sentences flow such as 'Dear Jack' and 'from Bunty'. With the appalling spelling and his unique approach to grammar, the rest was largely guesswork on my part. But what can you expect from a man who elevates idiocy to an art form and has on numerous occasions been called a halfwit by people that don't know him and such a term described as overly generous by those who do him. To call Bunty a halfwit, would be to credit him with having any wit at all, which clearly he hasn't.

I know he is my cousin and your nephew and as such, you are bound by family and duty to have some affection for him but if Bunty starts to write to me for the first time in fifteen years, prattling on about his pet goat and a girl from the village who has the misfortune to catch his eye, and Aunty continues to send suspiciously unsolicited parcels, then something is clearly up. Aunty never does anything without you and Papa claims to know nothing, which is a sure fire indication that whatever it is must have pretty dire consequences for me. What's going on? What are you both cooking up?

Looking forward to a speedy and frank response.

Your loving and patiently tolerant son,

Jack.

Letter to Mr Andrew Langton from Cairo dated 20 February 1927

Dear Langers,

How are you old chum. How's the old homestead? How's that wonderful girl of yours? Wish I could find one as sporting as her. There aren't many women who would follow a chap round the world and settle down with him in the middle of the African jungle. Of course having a large ranch, pots of money and a domestic entourage that the Prince of Wales would be proud of must have eased the upheaval I shouldn't wonder.

Still, I'm now settled down myself in my new caper. Papa has been more than extraordinarily generous with my allowance in the hope that I will get my head down and end my studies with some sort of degree or doctorate thingy. I've found a nice shack to bed down in. I say shack, it's actually more like living quarters with a small warehouse. Actually, I say small warehouse, it's more like a Hugh warehouse with a camp bed on the upper level; the sort of place a chap could set up a small venture and make a tidy profit into the bargain. Egyptian trinkets and souvenirs would go down a bomb in London don't you think? Don't let on to Papa though or he'll slash my allowance and that would be a real bore. He seems to be obsessed with the idea that I will just fritter my time and money away on gambling and drink rather than completing my studies. I've told him on many an occasion that you can't rush archeology and that it's not unusual for studies to take years. He said that if I wasn't careful my thesis would become an archeological artefact. Trouble is, he wants to see the fruits of my labour at the end of the summer so I have actually got to knuckle down and actually produce something. He's also in contact with my tutor which is not good news.

Anyway, I hope everything's working out for you. Why don't you both come up and visit me. It's not quite as palatial as your place but it's quite spacious so I'm sure but I can sort something out for you.

All the best,

Jack.

Letter dated 16 February 1927, Cairo

Dear Papa,

Thank you for the letter and the rather generous package that accompanied it. The cigars were welcome and the large bottle of Islay Single malt was very welcome. The evening tipples here are desperately difficult to find and rougher than a goat's tongue, though it has to be said, the goats quite like it.

You may rest assured now, that I have found more suitable lodgings in which to conduct my studies. The place in question has its own front door and by that I don't mean a doorway that I do not share with anyone else, although that is certainly the case. I mean a proper front door with wood, handles and even a working lock. This is something of s relief after my last place where I had to take all my belongings with me whenever I went out, even to buy some bread. On one occasion, I discovered that in my absence, someone had stolen my room. Not physically of course. That would have been a very witless and pointless crime to attempt. No, some chap, had been walking past, saw the place was empty and thought, I'll have that. It was only went I brought round the landlord that he decided to leave. Not surprising really when you consider that the landlord looks like King Kong's bigger and rather less attractive brother.

Tomorrow, I will be meeting my tutor at the museum, so I hope to be able to start my studies and get down to some hard work which is of course why you are giving me surcharge hefty allowance; so that I don't have to support myself with supplementary income. In fact I'll be working so hard, I doubt I will even set foot outside my rooms on most evenings.

Hope everyone is alright at home. Auntie for some strange reason has sent me a couple of bottles of wine to follow the package she sent a week ago. You don't know what the old girl's up to do you? She doesn't converse with me for ten years whilst I live only a half a mile away and then as soon as I leave the country, she showers me with letters and gifts. I know you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth but what if the crazy old nag looks shifty, has huge buck teeth and looks about to bite? Surely you would regard it with deep suspicion wouldn't you. Can you see if you can charm Mama into spilling the beans and telling you what's going on. The two of them are always in it together.

Anyway, must dash, all the best Papa. Write soon.

Your loving son Jack.

Letter Dated 10th February 1927, Cairo

Dear Mama,

I have finally arrived. The journey was relatively uneventful by air and sea. Only when it came to land did problems arise. Even your patented peppermint and lemon scented oil could not blot out the all pervading, full nasal assault that is camel aroma. It is difficult to put into words the full extent of the fetid pungency which hit me like a wall when we reached our transport to the city. Harder still was to ascertain which part of the animal, the smell was emanating from. What I had first taken to be hideous halitosis that could have been used as a substitute for chloroform, was in fact a general aura that seeped through every crack, crevice and pore. To add to the experience, was a temperament that was even riper than the creatures' smell. They spat, sneezed and bit their way through the journey but I suppose this was small wonder as I would hate to consider what ill feelings I would harbour if I discovered from birth that I smelt like a cross between a freshly laid cow pat and the sweaty matted armpits of a Yak. I have and do continue to ask myself why if they look and smell so bad, they are the animal of choice in these parts. Certainly they are hardy beasts against the scorching heat of the day and the sand but horses do manage to also survive here so I can only assume that a camel steak tastes sublime, though I severely doubt it. Nothing that bad can taste that good.

Lodgings are a little basic but will suffice until I can find a permanent base from which to plan my field trips with an en suite bed and door. A local shopkeeper claims to be a landlord of some properties nearby so I will ask if I can see them tomorrow.

Please thank Auntie for her letter. I look forward to receiving the hamper soon, even though it is uncharacteristically generous of her. I've no doubt that there is an ulterior motive for this and that I will pay for it later but nevertheless, I shall enjoy the scotch and tinned ham whilst I wait.

I hope the old man is well.

All my love.

Jack.

P.S - Two hampers are better than one.