438th AAA AW BN
APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.
Dec 6, 1943
Somewhere in England
Dearest Sweetheart –
I’ve just got back from a first aid lecture. I gave one this morning, too – and I bet I really know something about the subject when I get back to practice. This being Monday, dear, I find it no different from any other day, including Sunday. Yesterday was nice though because of the mail I received from you – but I believe I’ve told you, darling.
On re-reading your letters today, dear, I find them just as enjoyable, and I’m taking up from where I left off. You mentioned your pictures, Sweetheart. I hope you’ve sent them or it out by now. I’ve got the swellest spot on my desk and I’m anxious to fill it. I’ve answered your question about your mail getting to me. We are assured that regardless of the time, or any other factor (except loss at sea) the mail eventually gets to us. As I wrote yesterday, dear, I got a big avalanche. I hope they continue to come. I suppose my own will reach you in the same fashion. But I certainly do love your constancy in writing, darling, you can’t imagine how much. And if you’ve been a poor correspondent in the past, you’ve certainly done a swell job as far as I’m concerned.
Mentioning ‘swell’ reminds me of a funny word the English use – i.e. ‘yell’. In talking of Bob Hope, for example, they say “He’s a yell” – which I suppose isn’t too far from our “He’s a scream”. And they never say “What’s the latest dope?” but “What’s the latest gen?” , which is short for ‘general knowledge’. But they think we’re just as funny, so it all evens up. Incidentally, their comedians are very corny (a word which is hard to define to the British. Try it, dear, and you’ll see).
You mention in one of your letters about meeting someone on the train, and you end your paragraph with a desire of being married to me. I’ve experienced the same feeling and have tried to analyze it. You know I mentioned it wasn’t fair, etc., etc. I still suppose it isn’t, darling, and yet what a wonderful feeling to know that someone belongs to you. That’s why I feel so swell when you write me such comforting things.
I wish, darling, that you’d forget all about my birthday present. You are all the present I want and I’m happy about that. Besides, as you write, it might get lost – and that would be wasteful. It’s sweet of you to think about it and mention it – and I appreciate it. Anyway, I can’t think of a thing you could possible send me. I’ll tell you what, right after the war, you get me a nice knit tie (not tan) to wear with some new suit I get, and we’ll call it even.
I was sorry to hear about Stan. It’s unusual for him not to look well. He used to be able to chase around a lot, work – etc and still look in the pink. I believe he never really got over his sickness, because he doesn’t seem to be able to fight things off. As regards Shirley, that must be worrying him somewhat too. She’s apparently playing it very cozy. He keeps running between Newton, work and Winthrop – and the combination must be a difficult one to continue. I wonder if they’d let me commute between England and Newton. Stan wrote me a card and asked me to drop a note to Shirley. He gave me her address, but for the life of me I can’t think of her last name, I don’t know why. Would you let me know, dear?
Your Mother’s letter arrived with yours yesterday and it was thoughtful of her to write so soon. It’s swell of your folks to think of me as they do, and the implications your mother left were very nice to read. I shall write her soon; and I trust your father is well long before now.
So here I am darling, closing another letter and feeling near to you, as I always do while I’m writing you. It’s a wonderful sensation and if I keep rambling, it’s because I’m reluctant to end the illusion. I dream so much of us being married and enjoying life in Salem and visiting our folks and naming our children. Gosh, Sweetheart – we’ll have such a wonderful life together – see if we don’t. For now, so long, dear and
Well – I've more time, so I’ll write some more. It’s not hard. I haven’t done very much here as yet and seem perfectly content to just hang around. I will continue to do so until the war’s over, dear – so never worry about losing me in any way.
It’s such a queer thing, meeting a girl that you might not have met – and loving her. I think of that often and wonder about it. I couldn’t possibly have ever found anyone like you, darling – or have ever gotten that feeling of being so in love with anyone else. I know it, and it only makes me marvel at the way someone steers things. Long ago it must have been decided that we were meant for each other and if the Lord looks after such things, I certainly am happy for my share.
Again – so long, dear – and I miss you terribly but love you even more so. You are now the recipient of the most intensive mental kiss and hug ever put down on paper, (Wipe your lipstick, dear). Goodnite, darling and my
I’ve just got back from a first aid lecture. I gave one this morning, too – and I bet I really know something about the subject when I get back to practice. This being Monday, dear, I find it no different from any other day, including Sunday. Yesterday was nice though because of the mail I received from you – but I believe I’ve told you, darling.
On re-reading your letters today, dear, I find them just as enjoyable, and I’m taking up from where I left off. You mentioned your pictures, Sweetheart. I hope you’ve sent them or it out by now. I’ve got the swellest spot on my desk and I’m anxious to fill it. I’ve answered your question about your mail getting to me. We are assured that regardless of the time, or any other factor (except loss at sea) the mail eventually gets to us. As I wrote yesterday, dear, I got a big avalanche. I hope they continue to come. I suppose my own will reach you in the same fashion. But I certainly do love your constancy in writing, darling, you can’t imagine how much. And if you’ve been a poor correspondent in the past, you’ve certainly done a swell job as far as I’m concerned.
Mentioning ‘swell’ reminds me of a funny word the English use – i.e. ‘yell’. In talking of Bob Hope, for example, they say “He’s a yell” – which I suppose isn’t too far from our “He’s a scream”. And they never say “What’s the latest dope?” but “What’s the latest gen?” , which is short for ‘general knowledge’. But they think we’re just as funny, so it all evens up. Incidentally, their comedians are very corny (a word which is hard to define to the British. Try it, dear, and you’ll see).
You mention in one of your letters about meeting someone on the train, and you end your paragraph with a desire of being married to me. I’ve experienced the same feeling and have tried to analyze it. You know I mentioned it wasn’t fair, etc., etc. I still suppose it isn’t, darling, and yet what a wonderful feeling to know that someone belongs to you. That’s why I feel so swell when you write me such comforting things.
I wish, darling, that you’d forget all about my birthday present. You are all the present I want and I’m happy about that. Besides, as you write, it might get lost – and that would be wasteful. It’s sweet of you to think about it and mention it – and I appreciate it. Anyway, I can’t think of a thing you could possible send me. I’ll tell you what, right after the war, you get me a nice knit tie (not tan) to wear with some new suit I get, and we’ll call it even.
I was sorry to hear about Stan. It’s unusual for him not to look well. He used to be able to chase around a lot, work – etc and still look in the pink. I believe he never really got over his sickness, because he doesn’t seem to be able to fight things off. As regards Shirley, that must be worrying him somewhat too. She’s apparently playing it very cozy. He keeps running between Newton, work and Winthrop – and the combination must be a difficult one to continue. I wonder if they’d let me commute between England and Newton. Stan wrote me a card and asked me to drop a note to Shirley. He gave me her address, but for the life of me I can’t think of her last name, I don’t know why. Would you let me know, dear?
Your Mother’s letter arrived with yours yesterday and it was thoughtful of her to write so soon. It’s swell of your folks to think of me as they do, and the implications your mother left were very nice to read. I shall write her soon; and I trust your father is well long before now.
So here I am darling, closing another letter and feeling near to you, as I always do while I’m writing you. It’s a wonderful sensation and if I keep rambling, it’s because I’m reluctant to end the illusion. I dream so much of us being married and enjoying life in Salem and visiting our folks and naming our children. Gosh, Sweetheart – we’ll have such a wonderful life together – see if we don’t. For now, so long, dear and
You have All my love
Greg.
Well – I've more time, so I’ll write some more. It’s not hard. I haven’t done very much here as yet and seem perfectly content to just hang around. I will continue to do so until the war’s over, dear – so never worry about losing me in any way.
It’s such a queer thing, meeting a girl that you might not have met – and loving her. I think of that often and wonder about it. I couldn’t possibly have ever found anyone like you, darling – or have ever gotten that feeling of being so in love with anyone else. I know it, and it only makes me marvel at the way someone steers things. Long ago it must have been decided that we were meant for each other and if the Lord looks after such things, I certainly am happy for my share.
Again – so long, dear – and I miss you terribly but love you even more so. You are now the recipient of the most intensive mental kiss and hug ever put down on paper, (Wipe your lipstick, dear). Goodnite, darling and my
Sincerest love
Greg
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