08 December, 1943

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Wednesday, Dec 8, 1943 1100

England

Dearest Girl -

You can see by the time that I probably won’t be able to finish this at one sitting, but I thought I’d start anyway, since I happen to have a few spare moments just now. At 1130 I have to attend a B.C.’s meeting where we all air our views about different matters. Today I’m going to beef about the mess-kit water not being hot enough. I do that periodically, and they are getting used to it by now. As long as the boys don’t get any disease from contamination, I don’t care.

I’m sitting at my desk, near a warm stove, dear, with the radio playing Gypsy music, softly. It’s very comfortable – but you would complete the picture beautifully. Speaking of pictures reminds me of a statement you made in one of your letters – i.e. – that with time your picture might become dimmed. I don’t know, dear, whether you meant that figuratively or literally – but in either case you were way off the beam. Even without your photograph, darling, your image is very much in my mind; a picture will help – but even if either should be dimmed in my visual sensory mechanism, it wouldn’t matter at all because Sweetheart – it’s what you are basically that I love. Suppose I can’t visualize you? What of it? I know that when I left home I left behind me a girl whose qualities and make-up I loved and who in addition, loved me. That fact won’t get dimmed ever in my memory sense, believe me, darling – and it will bring me back to you, I know.

The program has changed to dance music and right now they’re playing “Put Your Arms etc.” and boy how I’d like to! The native dance bands – as I hear them on the radio – aren’t too good. The leading band leader seems to be a fellow named Victor Sylvester, and he isn’t bad. Yet he can’t touch Dorsey, Miller, Goodman, James et al. They play a lot of our old numbers like ‘Blue Skies’, ‘Who’. I’ve listened to hear ‘Dark Eyes’ – but so far, dear, no luck.

I did hear Bob Hope’s program the other night – or did I mention that? It was a Monday at 7:30 p.m. or 1930 and it was therefore about 1430 in the States. It was a special overseas program, done weekly. Crosby and Langford were on with him, and they wise-cracked freely. The ad-libbing was plentiful and they addressed all their remarks to the soldiers. I haven’t been able to find out about Jack Benny’s program as yet – but I understand he does one, too.

I have to leave right now, dear. Excuse me.

1240

Hello darling –

Just got back from lunch. We had steak, mashed potatoes, diced beets, mustard, pickles, coffee, pineapple and home-made tarts, and that wasn’t an extraordinary meal – either. Right now I’m waiting for one of the other officers to call for me. The BC’s are custodians of the funds of the batteries. We lugged our cash overseas and now we’re going to deposit it in an English bank – possibly Barclay’s. They have branches all over England and if we should move right from this spot – we’d have a branch somewhere else.

And news? Well what opinions you can get from the papers here and some natives – they all seem to feel that the war in Europe can’t last much longer. They feel the ‘Jerries won’t stick it’. The British are not a bunch of wishful thinkers – so maybe they have the right dope. Gosh, darling, how long must I dream of the ride back and the moment when I see you and I don’t know what? Will I be reserved? Wait and see, darling.

I’m afraid I’ll have to close now Sweetheart, – they’re waiting for me. Starting with this letter I’m addressing you at home on the hunch that it will take about that long to get to you. At any rate your mother will hold it.

Solong, my darling – I miss you terribly dear – particularly with the approach of the coming holidays, but what can a fellow do but sit tight and wait, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll write you again tomorrow, dear and until then – you have for safekeeping

All my love

Greg

07 December, 1943

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Dec. 7, 1943     1645

England

My dearest Sweetheart -

I used to think about overseas in a rather abstract way, I think. I would wonder how it would feel to actually be away. Now I know. Yet despite the awfulness of distance and the impossibility of being in close contact with beloved ones, I think it must be tougher on those at home.

I just received two more letters from you, darling – the most recent being the letter written on the 21st, after your long week-end at home. They were very sweet letters and told me very very much. But you were a very lonesome girl that week-end, dear, – very lonesome. We must have been thinking along the same lines, about the same time – as I think back.

First about my getting to meet an English girl, dear. Before I get to know one, I’ve got to meet one, don’t I? Darling, I haven’t got the slightest desire to meet an English, American, French, Russian, Italian, Burmese – or any other kind of girl. How could I want to, when I know you and love you so much? I know that you can’t help thinking things – to wit, I do the same. But you must have implicit confidence in my steadiness and my mind. I have one obsession, darling, and that is you – no matter where I go. Always, always remember that fact. I found you and knew immediately what I had been looking for. I loved you and tried to make you do the same; I’m not going to let anything destroy that!

Before you wrote what you did – or at least before I received this last letter, darling, I touched on a subject which you ask me to discuss. You remember before I left I kept saying I wished you and I had been engaged. I still wish it, dear – but remember, many an engaged person is so by virtue of a ring only, and not by much more. I feel I’m engaged, attached or any other word to you. You know my folks as no other girls I knew knows them; I know your folks rather well too. As far as I’m concerned, darling, I want to come home to marry you and that’s all I’m interested in.

I told you the other day, darling, how I felt about your going out. That’s going to be entirely up to you, dear. It’s probably easier for me not to go out than for you. After all – not many people in England are interested in me – For you it’s different, and I know that it must be difficult after sitting around night after night – not to accept what seems like a harmless invitation. Furthermore – it will be worse once school is over. All I can say, dear, is that I hope you don’t tell me about it. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?

Now I hope I’ve make myself clear on that subject. I was pleased to hear that my father had written you. He’s really out to hook you for me, I guess – and I’ll have to thank him.

You must be plugging away at the books these days and nights. I hope you’re concentrating and I want you to hit those exams hard.

I think your relatives are swell for remembering me so. I’m glad they do, dear, and don’t forget to send them all my best regards.

And out here in England, darling, there’s nothing at all in the line of news. My sight-seeing has consisted mostly of seeing the countryside on my visits to the hospital. The infernal fog and mist are a nuisance and are just what A. Conan Doyle said they were. It is actually difficult to walk even in the daytime. And it does get depressing not to see the sun day after day – just a moist grayishness that soaks everything. The ground and sidewalks never get dry – or at least never since we’ve been here. And because of our latitude and longitude (whatever they are), the sun never gets up very high in the sky. It reaches a point about as high as the sun would go in our country at about 1000 – and then starts sinking. Consequently, darling, it doesn’t start to get light these days until about 0845 and it’s dark right after 1700.

But it doesn’t really worry me very much dear. The fact is that this is all temporary and I’ll be coming back to you one of these days and we’ll stay in New England. Salem has some nice weather – and when it gets bad – we’ll stay in.

Now Sweetheart I hope you’re feeling well and taking care of yourself. I’m interested in how you’re making out in your quest for something to do after school is over – and I’m very much interested in whether or not you’re finding time very heavy, and whether the desire for diversion is very great in you. Write me, darling, and tell me – will you?

That’s all for now, dear – I hope I’ve answered your questions – You’ve got me, darling, and you’ll have me always – if you want me; no matter where I go, I’m coming back to you.

All my love, darling

Greg

06 December, 1943 (to her parents)

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Dec 6, 1943

Somewhere in England

Dear Mrs. B. –

I have at home about 800 pennies which Wilma and I will gladly stake against any and all combinations of Bridge players – even and including you and Mr. B. Seriously though, I’ve been playing the game frequently since I left, and I’m enjoying it thoroughly. You were right.

Your letter was very pleasant to receive, and I hope you continue to write. I certainly missed not being with Wilma on her Birthday and I’ll feel particularly lonesome on her Graduation Day. I hope you all have a very happy day. I’d give a lot to be able to be with you.

But I waited a long time until I met a girl like Wilma, and I can wait some more – to do my celebrating. I warn you, I shall insist on re-celebrating every holiday, birthday, Graduation – or similar function that I missed while I was away. Will you and Mr. B. be my guests?

Thanks again for writing and my best regards to Mr. B. So long for now –

Sincerely,

Greg

[Note from FOURTHCHILD: Greg used Wilma's full last name throughout this letter, not the more familiar "Mr. B." or "Mrs. B." It has been shortened for anonymity.]

06 December, 1943

438^th 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

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

05 December, 1943

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Dec 5, 1943 Sunday   1530

Somewhere in England

Dearest, darling Wilma -

A measure of one’s happiness is truly a relative thing. Today – Sunday the 5th I received the first letters from you, your mother, my folks and my brother. It seems to me, Sweetheart, that I’ve been happy before in my life time, for instance when I graduated College and Med School, or when I opened my office – and I suppose many other occasions which slip my mind now. Darling I say truthfully that I was never more happy, never had a more elated, satisfied feeling – then I had an hour ago when I was handed a nice stack of envelopes with some swell return addresses on them. Gosh, dear – I know I’ve mentioned each day that I’ve written you about not hearing from you, but it took all the restraint I could muster not to tell you how really blue and lonesome I’ve been not hearing from you. I’ve wanted news from you so very very much. That’s all I’ve had to look forward to. And the things you’ve written me are just what I’ve wanted to hear. Darling – never feel that you are telling me too often; I look for it in all your letters and it makes me feel wonderful.

When I got all your letters – I didn’t know what to do. At first I wanted to read them all immediately. Then I thought I’d ration them, one or two a day as long as they lasted. But, darling, I made a pig of myself and read each and every one of them. But I’ll keep re-reading them, over and over again.

There are so many things you mentioned – I don’t know where to start. To go a way back – to the night letter I’m so glad you received. Although the sequence of the letter and the regular mail must have been a bit confusing – you did very well in surmising what you did and hit it right on the nose. The night letter however did not come from Boston, dear.

You were very sweet, darling, to write my folks and call them. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it or how glad I am that you want to. I can tell you how they feel though, because I got a swell letter from my father today, too. He writes that you were not only thoughtful, but lovable to do it and that my mother is “crazy about you”. They not only love you, darling (you are so easy to love) – but they are so happy that I’ve met and love a girl as fine as you. Knowing I’m happy too – makes them even more happy. They’ve wanted so much to see me get settled – not alone as I was in Salem, but with a wife, and I guess they know pretty well that we’ll be married when I get back. They have that thought to help them while I’m gone – and Sweetheart I have you to thank for making them feel a little better.

It’s funny your mentioning bridge. I’ve already referred to it. I haven’t played much this week – but I’ll keep playing it until I really know the game. The more I play it – the better I like it. That’s true of many things – like loving you, darling.

I laughed at what you had to say about Medwin. But I give him credit for discerning that I was very much in love with you – although as I think of it dear, that shouldn’t be too hard to gather. You did feign trouble a couple of times in interpreting whether I was serious or not, remember, dear? But on the whole – I think I give myself away pretty easily.

I’m glad about Shirley’s brother. He deserves all the credit due him. I remember seeing the N.Y. papers’ review of the program. One in particular was very favorable. It certainly was a break for him.

And about my brother at the dance – I hope he had a good time and continues to go. But the “auto girl” part interests me. No, no, dear – not personally. You are all I’m interested in – and that brings up another thing – that old friend of yours, Bill R. What you wrote was just what I wished you’d write – and yet I feel so guilty at your refusing to see him, or any other fellow for that matter. I’m a jealous fellow, dear, I believe I’ve told you before. And knowing you were out with someone else – would make me very unhappy, and yet you are young and have so many opportunities, I hate to think of your having to refuse them. I don’t know how to couch my words. I want you to live and enjoy yourself and go out and meet people, and yet Sweetheart – I want you to be mine and no one else’s. That’s selfish, and I know it – and the only unselfish thing I can do about it is not have you mention the matter at all. Remember, darling – you have my love, I have yours. You are willing to wait and I want you to. Nothing else matters to me – but I don’t want to lose you to anyone else!

I’m awfully pleased that J and J remember me and refer to me as they do – even jokingly. We’ll show them, darling – and a lot of other people besides.

I’m going to stop now – but I’ll continue tomorrow. Darling, I’m very happy and very much in love with you. Being married to you is going to be wonderful. You know what I wonder about sometimes? Well I try to imagine what our first difference of opinion will be about; you know everybody has them. So far I haven’t got any idea what it could be. And – one more thing – I think it’s swell of the girls, all of them, to be so thoughtful about me and please tell them – we’ll have them all over to our house for a big party after the war – so I can thank them personally.

My deepest love, Sweetheart

Greg.

* TIDBIT *

about Shirley's Brother


Leonard Bernstein

"Shirley's brother", referred to in this letter, was Leonard Bernstein. On the 16th of November in 1943, Leonard Bernstein, who had only recently been appointed to his first permanent conducting post as Assistant Conductor of the New York Philharmonic, substituted on a few hours notice for Bruno Walter at a Carnegie Hall concert. The concert was broadcast nationally on radio, receiving critical acclaim. Soon orchestras worldwide sought him out as a guest conductor.

04 December, 1943

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Dec 4, 1943   1500

Somewhere in England

Dearest One –

If I don’t hear from you soon, dear, I’ll run out of subject matter – as if that could ever happen. I’ll just keep on writing and one of these days I bet I hear from you. If you’re not already hearing from me, you must feel even worse than I, because I’m the one that’s away. Well don’t worry, darling, I’m perfectly all right.

Today my radio came and it was a thrill turning it on and hearing music again, the medical detachment cheered – and then their faces fell. I was using the battery, and it went completely dead. I suppose it was a combination of the longevity, plus the inactivity. This was my second battery – which I obtained in Nashville last April. As yet I haven’t been able to obtain the correct type of plug for these sockets, so I’ll have to wait, although I’ve already sent into town for one. In addition I have to buy a transformer because electricity here comes to buildings in 220 volts; ours of course is 110-120. But I’m glad I brought the thing. It may liven up the place a bit. In the short time that it played – I found out one thing, namely – that there’s a good deal of classical music on the air, plus a deluge of recordings in German – for propaganda purposes. At least 3 stations were pounding it out from the BBC – telling the Germans what they had to look forward to.

I paid my men today – as well as getting paid myself. My own pay wasn’t as much as some of my men – my change in allotment to myself not having gone thru. It’s a good thing I’m not planning to do very much. It will probably take another month or so dear – but one thing is certain – I can’t write any checks. The result is that my balance will increase by $100 per month. I get the balance of my pay minus insurance – in cash. Checks aren’t honored here. It’s just as well. The more I save, darling, the more I’ll have. We can spend our honeymoon on my checking account – because it was somewhere around $650 when I left.

Paying the men was amusing but confusing. When they got their money – English money, they started paying off their respective debts to one another and in a short while Charlie and I were settling minor disputes as to who was getting the better of whom. Now the boys are getting ready to hot-foot it to town and spend it all. It will be gone by another week, and then the cycle of borrowing starts all over again. It’s the closest thing to anything perpetual that I’ll ever run into.

Personally I’m holding on to my own. My pay was £14-10-4 or about 58 good old American bucks, or the equivalent of 116 excellent Martinis and about 135 fair martinis. That has to last me the rest of the month, dear. I can remember when it was good for a couple of weekends plus 10 C stickers. Oh hum – I’d gladly change.

Tonite, darling, Pete and I are planning to go into town to look around, although I’ve just heard that the stores closed at 1800. I was hoping we could look around a bit. At any rate we can have a couple of beers in some pub; – an hilarious evening no doubt.

Sweetheart – that’s about all for now except to remind you that I’m very much in love with you, remember? Take care of yourself and I’ll write again tomorrow.

All my love for now –

Greg

03 December, 1943

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 515 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Friday, Dec 3, 1943    1900

Somewhere in England

Dearest Wilma -

I sometimes sit down to write you and for a few split seconds I imagine I’m back in Camp in the States writing you daily. I used to write you early in the a.m. – those days. At this time of the evening I was trying to get Holyoke 9489 on the phone, having raced several other officers to the booth. What a luxury that was! And I remember saying I shouldn’t call you so often. I guess I was foolish; twice a day would have been better.

There’s an almost futile feeling that possesses one here. True, the familiar faces of the soldiers and officers are all around you – but that’s far from enough. It’s the ones you love back home that leave an inexplicable vacancy. You feel as if you just have to do something about it – but there’s just nothing that can be done. You can’t call, you don’t know whether cabling has been effective, you have no idea if your letters are being received, and each day goes by and brings you no letter. The thousands of miles separating you are real, literal miles. Darling – I love you so much it hurts not to be able to be in constant touch with you. I wonder what you do each evening, whether you find the nights as long and empty as I do, how you spend your week-end nights – and a thousand other things. The war, dear, is a tough one for people in love. I’m only realizing how tough, now. What must it be for the boys in the front lines!

And yet, suppose a fellow was not in love. What an empty feeling he would have not to be able to let his mind linger on someone and dream. So the heartache one has over a girl back home is in reality a blessing, because it fills in the void and produces a hopeful mind. And that, dear, is what I thank the Lord for every night when I retire. I hope I don’t make that seem selfish, Sweetheart. Love is that, in a way, but actually it transcends selfishness, because it involves a oneness of purpose and plans and future; and as I think of you, dear, I always feel as bad over the fact that you are missing me. I always think of our future and how happy I hope to make you, of the things we’ll have and do together, of how rich our lives are potentially – and you know, darling – when I get that far in my thought, I start feeling better, the war seems as if it must end in due time. I feel assured that you’ll be home waiting for me after this is over – and bingo, even the gray misty English skies seem bright and I get a real lift.

Darling – you wondered about the possibility of becoming estranged. I think the contrary. I feel that our exchange of ideas – even in letters, will make us know each other much better than when I left. I know I reveal myself in my writing – and you do, too, dear. I think that when I get back, our getting married to each other will be a perfectly natural thing for us. What a happy day!

Gosh, dear – I really got going, didn’t I? I wonder if you think I’m the moody type. You’ve seen me mostly when I’ve been gay and I’m afraid that since arriving here I’ve written a somewhat different view. But even so, no matter how blue I may feel when I sit down to write you, no matter how hopelessly far away I feel, before I finish writing I end up very very close to you. It’s a blessing to be able to do that – and I feel projected all the way to where you are. I can see you clearly – even without your picture which I hope is on its way. That picture, by the way, dear is going to be deeply treasured by me and I can’t wait for its arrival.

I haven’t said much about my activities in today’s letter, Sweetheart – just my thoughts. The truth is that the latter really makes up the most of my activities. Nothing much has happened since I wrote you last except one point of interest. You remember Eliot L.? Well, dear, I may be able to contact him in a day or two. I was surprised when I found he was very near here, already.

It is now past 1930. I’m going to jot a note to the folks and then read an old copy of The New Yorker – which I’ve carried with me from the States. I’ve written my brother to send me the Boston Herald. The English papers have only 4 pages to them, are very crowded, have no sport section and seem quite empty. Even old news will be good to read from home.

I’ll close now, dear, and wish you a “good-night” although its only the afternoon where you are. My best regards to your folks, and the girls – here’s hoping I hear from you soon.

You have all my love, darling –

Greg.