438th AAA AW BN
Camp Edwards, Mass
Sept 23, 1943 2130
Wilma dear,
It seemed strange letting the day go by without writing even a few lines. If the occasion arises ever when I don’t write as often as possible, always remember dear that it will be due to circumstances beyond my control. I hope that won’t happen often, because I know you like to receive letters as well as write them.
I received a letter from you today and it was very sweet of you to write some of the things you did, about Oct 9th etc. I know you mean it or you wouldn’t write it. Yes – I too wish I could spend some time around Westover and then in Boston, but right now wishes seem so futile. I shall miss you more than I hoped possible a couple of months ago, paradoxical as that may sound. But having got to know you this past summer will be a source of constant pleasant thoughts without which I would have hated to go away. The war cannot end too quickly for me, dear – but I am not sorry I’m part of it, because when it is all over I shall be proud of having been a part of it, and perhaps you will be too.
As I think of days and nights to come, of long intervals between times of hearing from you perhaps – let us say due to mail delays, of periods of wondering what you’re doing, of how you’re spending your time after school is over, of how bored and restless you may become – when I think of all these things, as I can’t help but think, I am amazed at the workings of a mind which makes one think that even at a great distance he may be able to hold someone’s interest, command someone’s thoughts and affection and maybe even further all these. The mind, and I speak generally, is truly a wonderful machine, a fascinator, an enticer – and I sincerely hope – not a deluder.
I’m really at it, dear. I sat down to jot down a short note just so you would receive some mail on Saturday as a sort of surprise, and here I am running away with myself. I dropped into the Medical tent for a final check-up before retiring and found the lantern burning and no one here. I believe this is the first time I’ve written you in quiet, and see the result dear. Contemporary philosophy has few well-known men, and I’m really not trying to crack the ranks, dear.
About Saturday – I shall try to see you as soon as I can, dear. I believe I’ll stop in at home (I pass right by), stay awhile and perhaps go to town to fix my watch and have my electric razor fixed again. It’s not working. Anyway I’ll call you as soon as I get in.
I guess I’ll go to bed dear and again excuse my wanderings. I sometimes feel better when I say or write things as they come out of my head. You’ll get used to it. I hope.
Good nite for now, dear – until Saturday.
It seemed strange letting the day go by without writing even a few lines. If the occasion arises ever when I don’t write as often as possible, always remember dear that it will be due to circumstances beyond my control. I hope that won’t happen often, because I know you like to receive letters as well as write them.
I received a letter from you today and it was very sweet of you to write some of the things you did, about Oct 9th etc. I know you mean it or you wouldn’t write it. Yes – I too wish I could spend some time around Westover and then in Boston, but right now wishes seem so futile. I shall miss you more than I hoped possible a couple of months ago, paradoxical as that may sound. But having got to know you this past summer will be a source of constant pleasant thoughts without which I would have hated to go away. The war cannot end too quickly for me, dear – but I am not sorry I’m part of it, because when it is all over I shall be proud of having been a part of it, and perhaps you will be too.
As I think of days and nights to come, of long intervals between times of hearing from you perhaps – let us say due to mail delays, of periods of wondering what you’re doing, of how you’re spending your time after school is over, of how bored and restless you may become – when I think of all these things, as I can’t help but think, I am amazed at the workings of a mind which makes one think that even at a great distance he may be able to hold someone’s interest, command someone’s thoughts and affection and maybe even further all these. The mind, and I speak generally, is truly a wonderful machine, a fascinator, an enticer – and I sincerely hope – not a deluder.
I’m really at it, dear. I sat down to jot down a short note just so you would receive some mail on Saturday as a sort of surprise, and here I am running away with myself. I dropped into the Medical tent for a final check-up before retiring and found the lantern burning and no one here. I believe this is the first time I’ve written you in quiet, and see the result dear. Contemporary philosophy has few well-known men, and I’m really not trying to crack the ranks, dear.
About Saturday – I shall try to see you as soon as I can, dear. I believe I’ll stop in at home (I pass right by), stay awhile and perhaps go to town to fix my watch and have my electric razor fixed again. It’s not working. Anyway I’ll call you as soon as I get in.
I guess I’ll go to bed dear and again excuse my wanderings. I sometimes feel better when I say or write things as they come out of my head. You’ll get used to it. I hope.
Good nite for now, dear – until Saturday.
All my love –
Greg
[Note from Fourth Child: Sent to home address, not college address.]
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