On Friday, Father and I went blackberrying.
I found an old nest (sparrows),
which I brought back for Sonny.
He was delighted with it,
wanted to put it in the jasmine tree,
to let a sparrow lay an egg in it.
Quaint ideas kiddies have.
One day he had a caterpillar in a match box,
and proudly he pointed out
a little black pill in the corner,
saying it was an egg.
Your son is a nut, out and out.
The first day he was at school
(so I heard from another child)
the teacher told the class to put away books
as it was time for dinner.
Sonny shouted out, ‘Hooray’,
and the next day, in the midst of a quiet lesson,
he began to sing it at the top of his voice.
I can hear him coming in now
so must hurry to close.
With kindest regards from our folks at home
and all my love to you, sweetheart.
Source: letter from Mrs Dorothy Taylor of Leicester, England, to her husband, Harold, in Persia with the British Army, 20th October 1919
Contributor: Louise Taylor is a poet and writer from Hampshire, with a particular interest in social history. She blogs at