438th AAA AW BN
APO 515 c/o Postmaster N.Y.
Sunday, November 28 1110
Somewhere in England
Dearest Sweetheart –
The past few days have been very busy ones and I’m not sure dear whether or not I wrote you yesterday. From what I gather about getting mail, sequence seems to be no factor at all anyway. At least that’s true of this side anyway. To date, I haven’t received any mail at all here. The only thing I’ve received at all dear, was the one letter I wrote you about a long time ago. I’ve almost worn the print off – reading it. It was written the day you told me you didn’t think it wise to go to New York, remember? I’m told however that sooner or later – but always – all mail will reach us, so darling, some day I expect a harvest.
Sunday morning in Boston I would be getting ready to call you, Sweetheart. I’m so thankful for our memories because I have ample time to relive them. As I think back over the past few months, it’s wonderful to think how well we got to know each other dear. We really did spend a lot of time together, didn’t we? I’ll never forget my telling you I’d like to get to know you well enough to write to you. Off hand I’d say I did.
I keep wondering if you’ve heard from
Darling – I stopped where I did when our Col. dropped in to see me about a couple of things. From that time on ‘til now I’ve been busy without a let-up except for meals. Our letters don’t go out but once a day at 0800, so I’ll have to get mine written the p.m. or night before.
What I had started to say was that I’ll be interested in learning when you first heard from me, dear. I hope you’re being patient, darling. Remember – this is just a war; there have been wars before and they’ve always had an ending. They tell me that even the 30 years war wasn’t fought continuously, but had some intermissions. Now isn’t that cheerful, darling?
Well let me tell you a little more about England, dear. Wouldn’t it be swell if you were here though! It’s not beyond the limits of possibility that we could be here together someday Sweetheart. I’m ambitious. The towns here are really English. That’s very profound, that statement – but what I mean is that they are everything they are supposed to be, and the people, too. The dialect changes strikingly in different counties, even. In one place people say ‘half-penny’, in another – a ‘hay-penny'; in another place they say ‘three-pence’ for three-penny, and in another it’s called a ‘three-penny-bit’. It’s confusing. For that matter – the whole monetary system is, and I’ve even got one Englishman – the one who sent out your cablegram – to admit it. What is most difficult is trying to forget our money. If someone says that will cost 2 and 6, (written 2/6) you immediately try to figure first what it means and secondly what it means in American money. In this case – the 2 is shillings and the 6 is six pence. A shilling is 20 cents and 6 pence = a dime so 2/6 = 50 cents. The best thing to do is to think in terms of English money only, but when they say 2/6 – you expect to pay in 2 coins and find that it comes to one coin. A pound is worth 4 American dollars; there are no single dollar bills, but they do have 10 shilling bills (or notes) = $2.00. Incidentally – the money looks like stage money and is almost as big. It’s too wide for our wallets.
I had occasion to visit Liverpool for about an hour yesterday. It’s a big city with narrow winding streets – not unlike Boston in many respects. There were still many traces of previous heavy bombings. I was trying to locate a certain place for my outfit and had a devil of a time. Everyone I asked said he didn’t know. The people have been extremely well disciplined in not telling anyone anything – no matter what he’s wearing; he might conceivably be a paratrooper in disguise, etc. As you ride through the towns and cities you see red booths with all glass sides except for the frame – set at the edge of the curbstone at street corners. They are telephone booths and in some towns are stationed at every block. Everybody and his uncle rides a bicycle – all over the street; they’re really a hazard.
I haven’t been out with any of the fellows of an evening yet but the reports are in the negative. Every town has pubs – like saloons – and that’s all; no movies on Sundays. The movies are American, though – and in a neighboring town they are showing “Heaven Can Wait”, and Abbot and Costello in “Hit the Ice”. The pubs mostly sell beer – warm, as the English prefer it, and for hard liquor they serve gin, straight – if you can imagine. Oh – for a dry Martini, darling!
Buses transport most of the people and you wait at a corner in queues. You dare not push or crowd or try to get in front of anyone – or you pay a fine. I’m writing all this detail, dear – hoping you don’t mind. I’m just trying to let you project yourself over here a bit; I’m able to do the reverse so easily, that it’s really not fair.
So that’s about all for now except that if it’s 1900 now here it’s only 1500 where you are, dear. When I come home – my Sweetheart – I’ll have 4 extra hours in which to hug and kiss you. I wish I could ration those hours and have – say 15 minutes right now, dear. Boy oh boy! This is the longest I have gone since I’ve known you – without kissing you – and we were getting along so fine –
Well, darling, – I’d better stop now or this won’t fit into an airmail envelope. I don’t know when these letters will reach you but soon I’ll have to start writing to Newton – don’t you think? And to think I came so close to being able to attend your Graduation. Yet in the long run dear I think this was best because out set-up here is a much much better one than I would have drawn with that other outfit. And I do so want to come back safe and sound to marry you, darling, have a family and live happily ever after – Amen.
The past few days have been very busy ones and I’m not sure dear whether or not I wrote you yesterday. From what I gather about getting mail, sequence seems to be no factor at all anyway. At least that’s true of this side anyway. To date, I haven’t received any mail at all here. The only thing I’ve received at all dear, was the one letter I wrote you about a long time ago. I’ve almost worn the print off – reading it. It was written the day you told me you didn’t think it wise to go to New York, remember? I’m told however that sooner or later – but always – all mail will reach us, so darling, some day I expect a harvest.
Sunday morning in Boston I would be getting ready to call you, Sweetheart. I’m so thankful for our memories because I have ample time to relive them. As I think back over the past few months, it’s wonderful to think how well we got to know each other dear. We really did spend a lot of time together, didn’t we? I’ll never forget my telling you I’d like to get to know you well enough to write to you. Off hand I’d say I did.
I keep wondering if you’ve heard from
Sunday 1830
Darling – I stopped where I did when our Col. dropped in to see me about a couple of things. From that time on ‘til now I’ve been busy without a let-up except for meals. Our letters don’t go out but once a day at 0800, so I’ll have to get mine written the p.m. or night before.
What I had started to say was that I’ll be interested in learning when you first heard from me, dear. I hope you’re being patient, darling. Remember – this is just a war; there have been wars before and they’ve always had an ending. They tell me that even the 30 years war wasn’t fought continuously, but had some intermissions. Now isn’t that cheerful, darling?
Well let me tell you a little more about England, dear. Wouldn’t it be swell if you were here though! It’s not beyond the limits of possibility that we could be here together someday Sweetheart. I’m ambitious. The towns here are really English. That’s very profound, that statement – but what I mean is that they are everything they are supposed to be, and the people, too. The dialect changes strikingly in different counties, even. In one place people say ‘half-penny’, in another – a ‘hay-penny'; in another place they say ‘three-pence’ for three-penny, and in another it’s called a ‘three-penny-bit’. It’s confusing. For that matter – the whole monetary system is, and I’ve even got one Englishman – the one who sent out your cablegram – to admit it. What is most difficult is trying to forget our money. If someone says that will cost 2 and 6, (written 2/6) you immediately try to figure first what it means and secondly what it means in American money. In this case – the 2 is shillings and the 6 is six pence. A shilling is 20 cents and 6 pence = a dime so 2/6 = 50 cents. The best thing to do is to think in terms of English money only, but when they say 2/6 – you expect to pay in 2 coins and find that it comes to one coin. A pound is worth 4 American dollars; there are no single dollar bills, but they do have 10 shilling bills (or notes) = $2.00. Incidentally – the money looks like stage money and is almost as big. It’s too wide for our wallets.
I had occasion to visit Liverpool for about an hour yesterday. It’s a big city with narrow winding streets – not unlike Boston in many respects. There were still many traces of previous heavy bombings. I was trying to locate a certain place for my outfit and had a devil of a time. Everyone I asked said he didn’t know. The people have been extremely well disciplined in not telling anyone anything – no matter what he’s wearing; he might conceivably be a paratrooper in disguise, etc. As you ride through the towns and cities you see red booths with all glass sides except for the frame – set at the edge of the curbstone at street corners. They are telephone booths and in some towns are stationed at every block. Everybody and his uncle rides a bicycle – all over the street; they’re really a hazard.
I haven’t been out with any of the fellows of an evening yet but the reports are in the negative. Every town has pubs – like saloons – and that’s all; no movies on Sundays. The movies are American, though – and in a neighboring town they are showing “Heaven Can Wait”, and Abbot and Costello in “Hit the Ice”. The pubs mostly sell beer – warm, as the English prefer it, and for hard liquor they serve gin, straight – if you can imagine. Oh – for a dry Martini, darling!
Buses transport most of the people and you wait at a corner in queues. You dare not push or crowd or try to get in front of anyone – or you pay a fine. I’m writing all this detail, dear – hoping you don’t mind. I’m just trying to let you project yourself over here a bit; I’m able to do the reverse so easily, that it’s really not fair.
So that’s about all for now except that if it’s 1900 now here it’s only 1500 where you are, dear. When I come home – my Sweetheart – I’ll have 4 extra hours in which to hug and kiss you. I wish I could ration those hours and have – say 15 minutes right now, dear. Boy oh boy! This is the longest I have gone since I’ve known you – without kissing you – and we were getting along so fine –
Well, darling, – I’d better stop now or this won’t fit into an airmail envelope. I don’t know when these letters will reach you but soon I’ll have to start writing to Newton – don’t you think? And to think I came so close to being able to attend your Graduation. Yet in the long run dear I think this was best because out set-up here is a much much better one than I would have drawn with that other outfit. And I do so want to come back safe and sound to marry you, darling, have a family and live happily ever after – Amen.
My sincerest and deepest love, dear – all of it.
Greg.
