438th AAA AW BN
APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.
Dec 1, 1943 1345
Somewhere in England
Dearest Girl -
Another day, and the same longing desire to hear from you. I sure do hope I will soon dear. It will be a great tonic.
You may have noticed that the return address on the envelope is printed, with my signature above it. That, darling, is the latest. I swear – before the war is over we’ll probably be writing the address underneath the stamp. Censorship is undoubtedly important, but I think they’re getting even themselves confused – let alone the enemy.
By the way – the margin left – at the left side of the envelope is to allow the censor to cut the edge, without destroying the return address. Am I leaving enough margin, and also in that connection – how often are the letters being opened, dear? I’m just curious as a matter of interest.
Well, Sweetheart, tonite being Wednesday – the old 438th is just champing at the bit again. But there’s no Coonamessett Club out this way. Incidentally, I’m told that all the pubs carry signs saying there’s a fine for ‘pilfering’ glasses – so it’s going to be difficult to add to our collection. The last one I got was from the Hotel in N.Y. The reason I didn’t send it was because there was too much red tape involved in packing it and getting it censored. But I have it in my trunk and we’ll have it to add later on.
I started to write about Wed. night, dear. One of the Battery Commanders contacted an Inn about 5 miles from here and arranged for the 6 B.C.’s to have a duck dinner tonite. That will make the first nite out for me. They say these Inns are quaint, but dull. There’s no music and no one raises his voice. But it will get me out for a couple of hours anyway.
I’m still dreaming, darling – but last nite I got cheated; I didn’t dream of you. For some reason or other I dreamed about interning. I had just applied to the Mass. Gen. Hosp. – for a surgical appointment. Then there were a whole maze of events, and I’ll be damned if I know how it ended. I had been thinking of taking a course perhaps – after the war, and I imagine that’s how I dreamed about that.
You ought to be able by now, Sweetheart, to gather that all my time is projected beyond the present in everything I think or talk about. This is just a necessary part, I suppose – but as you suggested in a letter – the last act – a real longie, by the way, is yet to come. As a matter of fact – it’s so long, we’ll make a whole new play around it – but estranged from you, dear?? Never!
Well, darling – I’ve got some things to do. So long for now, Sweetheart – and all my deepest love
Another day, and the same longing desire to hear from you. I sure do hope I will soon dear. It will be a great tonic.
You may have noticed that the return address on the envelope is printed, with my signature above it. That, darling, is the latest. I swear – before the war is over we’ll probably be writing the address underneath the stamp. Censorship is undoubtedly important, but I think they’re getting even themselves confused – let alone the enemy.
By the way – the margin left – at the left side of the envelope is to allow the censor to cut the edge, without destroying the return address. Am I leaving enough margin, and also in that connection – how often are the letters being opened, dear? I’m just curious as a matter of interest.
Well, Sweetheart, tonite being Wednesday – the old 438th is just champing at the bit again. But there’s no Coonamessett Club out this way. Incidentally, I’m told that all the pubs carry signs saying there’s a fine for ‘pilfering’ glasses – so it’s going to be difficult to add to our collection. The last one I got was from the Hotel in N.Y. The reason I didn’t send it was because there was too much red tape involved in packing it and getting it censored. But I have it in my trunk and we’ll have it to add later on.
I started to write about Wed. night, dear. One of the Battery Commanders contacted an Inn about 5 miles from here and arranged for the 6 B.C.’s to have a duck dinner tonite. That will make the first nite out for me. They say these Inns are quaint, but dull. There’s no music and no one raises his voice. But it will get me out for a couple of hours anyway.
I’m still dreaming, darling – but last nite I got cheated; I didn’t dream of you. For some reason or other I dreamed about interning. I had just applied to the Mass. Gen. Hosp. – for a surgical appointment. Then there were a whole maze of events, and I’ll be damned if I know how it ended. I had been thinking of taking a course perhaps – after the war, and I imagine that’s how I dreamed about that.
You ought to be able by now, Sweetheart, to gather that all my time is projected beyond the present in everything I think or talk about. This is just a necessary part, I suppose – but as you suggested in a letter – the last act – a real longie, by the way, is yet to come. As a matter of fact – it’s so long, we’ll make a whole new play around it – but estranged from you, dear?? Never!
Well, darling – I’ve got some things to do. So long for now, Sweetheart – and all my deepest love
Greg
No comments:
Post a Comment