Annie’s mother undid the parcel and took out a large German helmet, but it somehow failed to arouse much enthusiasm on the part of either mother or daughter.  Jim had already gone far towards converting his wife’s kitchen into an arsenal, and, as Annie said, “there was no end o’ wark sidin’ things away an’ fettlin’ up t’ place.”

At the bottom of the helmet was an envelope addressed to “Mrs Annie Akroyd, 7 Nineveh Lane, Leeds,” and the mother handed it to her daughter.

“I’m ower thrang to read it naa,” said Annie; “it’ll hae to wait while I’ve finished weshin’.”

“Eh! but tha’ll want to know how thy Jim’s gettin’ on.  Happen he’ll be havin’ short leave sooin.  I’ll read it to thee misen.”

She opened the envelope and began to read the letter.  It ran as follows:—­

“Dear Annie,—­I hope this finds you well, as it leaves me at present.  I’m sendin’ thee a helmet that I took off a German that I com across i’ one o’ them gert sump-hoils that t’ Jack Johnsons maks i’ t’ grund.  He were a fearful big gobslotch, so I reckon t’ helmet will do to wesh aar Jimmy in.  When he gets a bit owder, he can laik at sodgers wi’ it.

“I’ve coom aat o’ t’ trenches an’ am enjoyin’ a rest-cure behind t’ lines; so don’t thou worry thisen abaat me.  I’m champion, an’ I’ve nowt to do but eyt an’ sleep an’ write a two-three letters when I’ve a mind to; and what caps all is that I’m paid for doin’ on it.  There’s a lass here that said shoo’d write this here letter for me; but I’d noan have her mellin’ on t’ job, though shoo were a bonny lass an’ all——­”

“What mak o’ lass is yon?” interrupted Annie.  “If he’s bin takkin’ up wi’ one o’ them French lasses, he’ll get a bit o’ my mind when he cooms back.  He’ve allus bin fearful fain o’ t’ lasses, has Jim, an’ I’ve telled him more nor once I’d have no more on’t.  An’ them Frenchies is nasty good-for-nowts, I’ll warrant.  They want a few o’ their toppins pulled.”

Here she paused, and the rest of her wrath was vented on the clothes in the tub.  Her mother continued to read aloud: 

“Mind you let me know if Leeds beats Barnsla i’ t’ Midland Section next Setterday.  It’ll be a long while afore I clap eyes on a paper aat here, an’ I’ve putten a bit o’ brass on Leeds winnin’ t’ game.  An’ tell my father he mun tak my linnit daan to t’ Spotted Duck for t’ next singin’ competition.  He’s a tidy singer is Bobby, if he’s nobbut properly looked efter.  Tha mun mesh up a bit o’ white o’ egg wi’ his linseed; there’s nowt like white o’ egg for makkin’ linnets sing——­”

Once again Annie broke in upon the perusal of the letter.  “Eh! but t’ lad’s fair daft.  All he thinks on is fooitball an’ linnit matches.  White o’ egg for linnits, is it!  I’d have him know that eggs cost brass nah-a-days.  Why don’t he ‘tend to his feightin’ an’ get a stripe like Sarah Worsnop’s lad ower t’ way?”

“Whisht a bit!” exclaimed her mother, “while I’ve gotten to t’ end o’ t’ letter.  Eh! but he do write bad; t’ words is fair tum’lin’ ower one anuther.”