Letters // [thomas shelby / peaky blinders]

45

It took a month and a half before I got a letter, but when I did, I got five.

Thanks, bloody British mail.

"My dearest Georgia,

Days in France are hard, but nights without you are harder. I miss you so much, my dear.

I'm stationed with Arthur and John, as well as all the other Small Heath Rifles boys, so I'm sure we'll get up to some antics during any of our limited time off.

We're all fine. We all miss you. We miss Small Heath.

I miss you most though, and never forget that.

I love you, Georgia.

See you soon,

Thomas Shelby"

"Georgia,

This is my second letter in two days.

I realized the first one might not have been what you wanted to hear, but I don't want to make you worried with the details of war. I don't want you more worried for me than you already are. And I know you are, my dear.

Think of me only as the smiling man that you remember, and I will think of you whenever I can, which is practically always.

Send me a photograph soon, will you? I need it for luck.

Love you,

Tommy"

"Georgia,

I just got word that they're going to start censoring the mail, which means that they might cross out words in my letters, so I'm sorry if that ever happens.

I hope everything is going well, and I can't remember what day it is, but I believe there is a race soon, so have it fixed and win us some fucking money, baby.

Miss you heaps.

Where's that picture?

Love you endlessly,

Tommy"

"My dearest Georgia,

I have a suspicion that these letters aren't getting to you in a timely fashion, and I'm quite upset about it.

This is my fourth letter and John is making fun of me for writing it, but when I told him it was for you, he started writing one to Martha, so I suppose it's a good idea, writing letters.

Enclosed in here is a pin. It's nothing special, don't worry, but I want you to wear it on days that you miss me, so whenever you look down, you'll see it and I want you to know that I'm there with you.

It's blue like my eyes, which I know you're a right sucker for.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Tom"

"My dearest Georgia,

I reckon this letter will get to you sooner than the others because I'm writing on a postcard and they can censor it easier if they feel they need to.

So assume you'll get some more postcards.

It's been one month and I miss you dearly.

Will you send that bloody photo I asked for? (I'm still asking even though I know you might be getting all these bloody letters at once)

I love you.

Yours always,

Tom."

I wipe a tear away as it threatens to drop off my nose and onto the writing.

"Pol!" I shout. "I need to get a picture taken!"

"Let's get you ready then!" She walks into the room and sees the letters. "Did he ask for one?"

"Yes." I sniffle. "More than once."

"Did these all come today?" She asks, looking at the post marks. "I'm going to have a word with the post office." She says and I smile. "One month for a bloody letter from France is not fair. Especially when I know that they get post frequently."

"I haven't written to him yet. I didn't know where to send it." I say and she nods.

"Well we'll get you ready, and you can have your picture taken and then you'll write to him and I'll shout at the workers in the office to make sure that your letters get to the house that bloody day that they arrive."

"Thanks, Pol."