69, Upper Chorlton Road,
Whalley Range,
M/c 16.
Sunday.
Dear John,
Thanks for your letter. Sorry to hear about you cutting your thumb. I hope it heals quickly.
Thanks again for your invitation to come down but I don’t think I will be able to afford it with saving up for Scarborough, and it’s also Mum’s birthday on Saturday. It’s a pity we live so far apart, but in three weeks we’ll be on our holidays.
I’m glad to hear Peter’s Dad’s improving.
I read the chapter you told me to read, John. But what exactly do you mean by a sickening thought (excuse my ignorance).
The meeting was very good last night at church. Mr. Popoff’s testimony was really good. Wish you could have heard it.[1]
Well, John, I suppose you’ll be having your chicken dinner today. Don’t eat too much.
What’s the weather like there? It’s horrible and dull here. I was hoping to be able to sunbathe in the garden. It just isn’t fair.
Well, I’ll close now, John, as Hazel keeps telling me I’ll be late for Sunday School, which is no change.
Bye for now, John.
Love, Pam.
x x x x x x
P.S. Don’t forget to go to church tonight, will you?
