16 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

16 March, 1944       1100

Dearest darling –

Thursday morning and everyone’s bucking for the big inspection tomorrow – i.e. – every one except the medical detachment. A short while ago we had a little session (Goodman would shudder at my free use of the word) – with my clarinet and one of the men on the guitar. It’s not a bad combination. Now that that’s over, my best surgical technician is working on a case for my clarinet that will save me 35 shillings – and besides we’re having fun designing it. The only trouble is we haven’t got the wherewithal – like hinges, tacks and fine tools.

Last night we saw “Pittsburgh” – with J. Wayne, R. Scott et al. I only saw the last part because we got back from battalion quite late. The meeting was a lot of hooey – except for one rather important point – which I can’t discuss right now, darling.

And just as I expected, dear, I got two letters from you – one of them written March 4th, with a March 5th post-mark. Boy it’s wonderful to get a letter that’s only about 10 days old, darling, and to realize that you wrote it a comparatively short time ago. Sweetheart – I love your letters very much – everything you say and the way you say it. I wouldn’t love them otherwise. If you feel sometimes that your expressions of love seem inadequate – I know how you feel – because I experience the same frustration. It always seems as if I could have expressed myself just a little bit better. But I know what you’re telling me – and you must know, too. As you implied in one of your letters – recently, the “love language” is very primitive – and its vocabulary extremely limited. One thing that isn’t limited though is the emotion of love. That has a tremendous range – hasn’t it, dear? So it seems that the difficult part is just expressing the feeling. It’s too bad, dearest, we can’t be close together – because I think we could show each other how much we care.

Concerning the “cons” – as you put it of our being engaged, I’m well aware that the advice you’re getting is sincere, honest – and probably sensible, too. But darnit – if you feel as certain as I do – I don’t see why my being away should make enough difference to prevent our actually becoming engaged. I think it will make us feel happier, and more settled. I know it will do that for me, Sweetheart – and as you say – it will seem logical and natural to go ahead and get married right after I get back. And the sooner we get married, darling, the sooner can we get started on life together. I’ll have to build a practice, we’ll have to build a family. We’ll have to catch up on lost time, dear, and having been engaged all the time that I’m away will prevent our marriage from seeming hasty. It’s all up to your folks now, darling. I’ve written mine, told them how I feel. They’re very happy about it – as you no doubt know. I’ve told my father to buy a ring. I hope he gets one you’ll like. The rest of it hinges on arrangements he will make when the go-ahead sign is ready. I hope there’s no hitch, darling, because I love you and want you to be my wife – more than anything else in the world. Being engaged to you – will be the first big step.

Darling I’ve got to go now. Believe me – I’m the happiest guy around – these days – and it’s all due to my love for you and its return on your part. It will always be so, too. My best regards to your folks and you’ll have to continue to impress them with the fact that we’re doing the right thing. I tried to in the 2 letters I wrote them recently. So long for now – dear – and

All my love

Greg

15 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

15 March, 1944       1125

Dearest sweetheart –

The Ides of March and still no action – I suppose they know what they’re doing but I do wish something would happen soon. No letter this morning but maybe I’ll get something this evening, dear.

Last night was quiet – early evening – and active around midnight. I did some more writing, a letter to Mary and one to a friend of mine who is in the ETO. I heard from him just the other day. You know, darling, it will be fun meeting each other’s friends. I was thinking about it – when you mentioned some of your girl friends you’ve been meeting up with recently. I hope they’ll like your choice and as far as I’m concerned, if they’re your friends, they’ll be friends of mine, I’m sure. I used to have a good many friends when I was at college and med. School – but everyone drifts off and I drifted to Salem. It was difficult keeping up with them – but after the war we’ll have to pick up the loose threads.

I got a letter yesterday from both Mrs. Kerrs – elder and younger. Both were very friendly and reminded me to take care of myself. I also heard from Dr. Finnegan who is apparently well and kicking. There’s nothing much new out of Salem except that all the doctors are busy. Oh well – they’ll have to move over and make room for another guy – that’s all.

This p.m. I’ve got to go back to battalion headquarters again – for a battery commanders’ meeting – just some more of the Army habit of having a lot of meetings. This one is probably to get us ready for – yes, you guessed it, darling – another big inspection due on Friday morning. I think they ought to give us ribbons for inspections.

Sweetheart – I’m afraid I’ve been careless in not mentioning the rash on your arm. How is it now? When did it first appear, how much did in involve, was it blotchy or separated, did it itch or not and did you ever have it before? I meant to ask you about it in an earlier letter but forgot to. I hope it’s gone by now. If not – I hope you’re taking care of it. Let me know – will you, dear?

Say – by the way – here is what I wanted you to do when I asked for hair tonic, dear. You had been asking for me to request something and I couldn’t think of a thing I really needed – so I put down the first thing that came into my head. Maybe it was my subconscious mind? My hair – darling – is just about the same as it was before; I’ll admit it’s not much – but as long as you love me – I don’t care at all. I did write my brother for some hair tonic merely because you can’t get anything in England except creams – which I never used. A tonic does seem to keep your hair a little bit dandruff-free. But honestly, darling, I’m not worried about it. You shouldn’t have bothered sending me anything, dearest, – I really don’t need anything – and by that I don’t mean to disparage your intentions. I do appreciate it, Sweetheart, – I just don’t want you to bother – that’s all. I liked the way you fooled the Post Office clerk by saying it was something for your husband. That isn’t so far off at that – is it? Anyway, dear, thanks for the trouble and when the lotion comes I’ll make good use of it and brush my hairs beside. Anyway – I shouldn’t have much trouble with graying hair – should I?

Well – it seems I’ve just prattled along, Sweetheart and it’s now past noon. I wanted to write you now because we’re leaving for Hq. right after lunch and won’t be back until late. I feel better having written you first – as I always do – darling – when I write you. I’ve been thinking so hard of us – particularly the past week or so – but it’s always along a happy contented view – and I guess I needn’t tell you, darling, that there’s nothing quite like it. Everything seems rosy for you and me – we love each other, other factors are compatible, we ought soon to be engaged as well – we’ll have a lot to be thankful for Sweetheart – I’ll close now. I do love you and miss you terribly – but it will be satisfied – this desire of mine and that thought helps immeasurably.

So long, dearest, for now and

All my love

Greg

P.S. Regard to the folks

Love,

G.

* TIDBIT *

about the Stage Door Canteen Movie


Ray Bolger in Stage Door Canteen

In yesterday's letter, Greg mentioned seeing Stage Door Canteen for the second time. Just as Hollywood hosted the "Hollywood Canteen" (as described in the *Tidbit* of February 28th), so New York had a "Canteen" of its own, also immortalized in a movie. Wikipedia has this to say about it:

Stage Door Canteen (1943) is a musical film produced by Sol Lesser productions and distributed by United Artists. It was directed by Frank Borzage and features many cameo appearances by celebrities. The majority of the movie is essentially a filmed concert, although there is also a storyline to the film. Made in wartime, it celebrates the work of the "Stage Door Canteen", created in New York City as a recreational center for servicemen on leave to socialize with, be entertained or served by theatrical celebrities. It was made under the auspices of The American Theatre Wing.

The real Stage Door Canteen on 44th Street could not be used for the filming as it was too busy receiving real servicemen, so it was recreated in New York and at the RKO Radio Pictures studio in Culver City. The storyline of the film follows several women who volunteer for the Canteen and who must adhere to strict rules of conduct, the most important of which is that while their job is to provide friendly companionship to and be dance partners for the (often nervous) men who are soon to be sent into combat, no romantic fraternization is allowed. One volunteer who confesses to only becoming involved in the Canteen in order to be discovered by one of the Hollywood stars in attendance, ultimately finds herself falling in love with one of the soldiers.

Star appearances range from momentary cameos, such as Johnny Weissmuller, seen working in the canteen's kitchen, to more substantial roles such as Katharine Hepburn, who helps advance the plot. Most of the cameos were filmed at the studio, but a number of spots -- Benny Goodman's, for example -- were filmed in New York City.

The list of entertainers is mammoth. Those highlighted below either performed a number or had extended dialog in the plot, Actors, Actresses, Singers and Dancers: Judith Anderson, Henry Armetta, Kenny Baker, Tallulah Bankhead, Ralph Bellamy, Jack Benny, Edgar Bergen (with Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snerd), Ray Bolger, Helen Broderick, Ina Claire, Katharine Cornell, Lloyd Corrigan, Jane Darwell, William Demarest, Gracie Fields, Lynn Fontanne, Arlene Francis, Virginia Grey, Helen Hayes, Katharine Hepburn, Hugh Herbert, Jean Hersholt, Sam Jaffe, Allen Jenkins, George Jessel, Otto Kruger, Gertrude Lawrence, Gypsy Rose Lee, Alfred Lunt, Bert Lytell, Aline MacMahon, Harpo Marx, Elsa Maxwell, Helen Menken, Yehudi Menuhin, Ethel Merman, Peggy Moran, Alan Mowbray, Paul Muni, Merle Oberon, Franklin Pangborn, Brock Pemberton, George Raft, Lanny Ross, Martha Scott, Cornelia Otis Skinner, Ned Sparks, Bill Stern, Ethel Waters, Johnny Weissmuller, Dame May Whitty, and Ed Wynn.

Orchestras: (all featured performers) Count Basie, Xavier Cugat (with Lina Romay as featured vocalist), Benny Goodman (with Peggy Lee as featured vocalist), Kay Kyser, Guy Lombardo, and Freddy Martin

14 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

14 March, 1944        1545

My dearest sweetheart –

No letter today – but I really didn’t expect one in view of the three rather recent ones yesterday. Anyway – there was enough material in them to give me pleasant thoughts for some time, darling. The more I think of us and our engagement-to-be, the happier I feel about it. It’s going to be a wonderful feeling to know that you are really destined to be mine alone – and I hope the same thought – from your side of the fence – gives you the same satisfying reaction that I get, dear.

Last night – after seeing “Stage Door Canteen” here – and for the second time – I came back to my quarters and wrote a couple of more letters to catch up with my correspondence. I wrote one to a Dr. Curtis in Salem – one of the older doctors who was very helpful to me; then I wrote to a friend of mine who is a warrant officer with an AA unit in Italy. I had just heard from him. They really had it quite tough – but one thing the Army does is to move an outfit back after it has hard going for a month or two. His outfit was being moved back for a rest – and he was really looking forward to it. I also wrote Stan a V-mail asking him why I hadn’t heard from him. I rather think, dear, it’s because of the Shirley affair – which he must be finding difficult to tell me about. His previous letter had told me how well they were getting along. At any rate to make it somewhat easier for him, I told him you had intimated that things weren’t going so well and I wrote him that if he stopped seeing her, he certainly must know what he’s doing.

This morning, darling, I went up to headquarters to see the colonel and talk over a few things. One thing turned up yesterday of some interest. I got a letter from the General of our Brigade – thru channels – to the group to which we belong and then to my colonel and finally to me – stating that I was to perform the monthly physicals and do the sanitary inspections hereafter, at Brigade headquarters. I don’t even know the General and why they picked me out of perhaps 16 or 17 medical officers – I don’t know. It doesn’t mean much – except that I’m now responsible for a few more inspections and reports. I shall probably go up to Brigade next Monday and look things over.

While up at battalion headquarters – dear, I went over to see Pete and formally gave him your regards. I told him you never fail to mention him and he was pleased. I also told him how well we were getting along and that I thought we’d be engaged soon – he was glad to hear that. He insists he’ll come to the wedding and get pie-eyed – which is O.K. with me.

When I got back here – about an hour ago – I found only one letter – from Frank Morse. As yet we haven’t been able to get together. His hospital – the 16th General – has been moving around and has finally settled down. His APO is now 526 – which doesn’t mean much necessarily. I don’t think he’s near me because he said he had been off last weekend and spent it in Manchester – which is quite the opposite direction from me. Anyway – we’re going to try and get together the beginning of next month.

I never did tell you, sweetheart, that I was happy to hear that you had received the charm. I’m glad you were able to devise a way of wearing it – and I’m glad you like it. You made some mention of being afraid to break it – while fixing the pin. I don’t know if you were referring to the pin or heart – The latter, darling, is unbreakable, made out of plexi-glass which is used in Flying Fortresses – so don’t worry about that. I was sorry to hear that one of the martini glasses was broken. The largest one was from the Astor – in New York and we’ll get another – after the war. The one with the D is from the Dorchester – a really swank London hotel and the plain one is from the Grosvenor House in London – equally exclusive. I’m glad you like the ash-tray from the Trocadero. I’m afraid it will be difficult to get another cup and saucer from the RAF – but I’ll give it a try. Meanwhile – here and there I’m picking up more junk and if I get anything of interest – I’ll send another package, dear.

RAF Cup and Saucer

Well – sweetheart, I guess that will be all for now. I’ve been away all day so far and I want to see how things are at the dispensary. I’m extremely anxious to hear how things are going back home with you, my folks and yours. I’m becoming understandably impatient – at this point and I’ll be that way until I can really call you my wife-to-be. Until tomorrow, darling – so long and you have

My sincerest love

Greg

P.S. Regards to your family

Love,

G.

13 March, 1944 (to her parents)

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

13 March, 1944

Dear Mrs. and Mr. B –

Having already written you how I felt about Wilma, it seems to me I can just go along from there. I’ll admit it’s all so different from the conventional – but hang it – what can a fellow do these days when he’s a long way from home and the girl he loves is still not ‘attached’ to him?

I hear from my folks and they were very happy to hear how I felt about Wilma. They told me how much they loved her and what a wonderful girl she is. I didn’t need that information – as I already know – but it’s nice to know that your folks are all for it. It will be a while, no doubt before I hear from you – and I hope I hear what I want.

It struck me when I thought over what I had written you – that I didn’t actually present myself in the way a possible future son-in-law should. By that I mean – you perhaps don’t actually know too much about me and shall I say – my qualifications. I realize that to a girl’s parents – that is very important. I don’t intend to give you a list of my accomplishments – that’s in the past. But, I would like to say that I’m very confident that I can get started in practice again back in Salem and pick up where I left off. I’m aware of the fact that being successful while single doesn’t guarantee the same for being married – but then – background does help a great deal. The fact is I did start a practice and I know what to expect; it’s not all new to me. It will undoubtedly be slow at first – but I feel that with what I have and intend to buy – we’ll be able to get going without any difficulty; and I do have some good-will in Salem – which is after all – immeasurable.

I don’t like to write such stuff. I’d much rather talk to you two – in person, but I do feel that I owe you some measure of explanation as to my plans. I am only too well aware that becoming engaged and eventually married – is not an everyday occurrence – and that a girl’s parents deserve to know something a little bit more than just that ‘he’s a pretty good guy’.

Well – I’m glad I told you how I feel about it, realizing that it may sound stiff, but I felt it was necessary. I hope that you feel that I may make a decent husband for Wilma and one who can take care of her when she’s no longer directly under your wing.

Meanwhile – I hope all is well at home – and I hope to hear from you soon.

Very sincerely,

Greg

13 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

13 March, 1944            1300

My dearest darling –

I’m so thrilled at the letters I’ve just received that I hardly know what to say. I’m so in love with you and so thrilled at the thought of our being engaged – that I hardly know how to act. I received your letters of Feb 28, 29, and March 1 and you wrote just what I wanted to hear – that things were progressing in the right direction for us, that the chances of actually becoming engaged looked better and better – and that my folks were all for it. The latter fact I was sure of anyway – but my feeling was strengthened by a letter from my father which I also received today. It was not his response to a letter I had sent and which the folks haven’t received as yet, but he intimated he knew what was going on, was very happy, as was my mother – and he wanted to know how he could help. You can see, sweetheart, why I feel so happy.

As regards your folks, darling, as I told you yesterday, I’ve written them and told them how I felt about you and what I wanted to do. I’m afraid I didn’t go into enough detail about various matters – like being able to provide for you, for example. Somehow, dear, I don’t have any doubt about being able to do that – although I admit it’s a much different proposition taking care of a wife than just yourself. But one thing I’ve never lacked is confidence – and in medicine, that’s very important. I think, darling, that I’ll be able to take care of you properly. How tough it will be – building a practice all over again – I can’t say – but if you’re not afraid, I assure you I’m not. I’ve got enough money to get us started and carry us along until my income increases. That’s one thing about medicine – you don’t start off with a fixed salary; you start from zero. But the other side of it is that there’s no ceiling on your salary later.

In getting started again – I will first of all buy a car. I have enough office furniture, equipment and instruments to fit my office. I still have a license to practice, darling. So all we’ll need is a place to live and some furnishings for it – and I can take care of that too. Above and beyond all that – we’ll have each other – and who can hold us back?

Sweetheart – I am now formally asking you to be engaged to me – so that we can be married as soon after I return home as is practicable. My father and mother, meanwhile, will carry on for me – from this point – and I shall so write them today. I will of course hope to hear from your folks that they approve. I hope they don’t think I was too stiff and formal in the way I wrote them. I didn’t want to be – but darling, I could have done so much better in person!

If I could only hold you in my arms and kiss you and place a ring on your finger myself – I would be so happy, dearest, – but we’re doing the best we can under the circumstances I feel – don’t you, dear?

Gosh I can hardly bear the delay in the exchanges of mail. I so want everything to go along smoothly and simply. I want to have you tell me you’re wearing my ring and that you are really my fiancée. That will be a happy day for me – darling!

I’m going to stop now – and write my folks – and probably yours, too. Our colonel is expected down soon and I want to get out of my quarters before he arrives – since these are ‘working’ hours.

So until tomorrow sweetheart, so long and my sincerest wishes that all turns out well in our plans and speedily.

My deepest love, darling

Greg.

P.S. I can’t understand why Stan hasn’t called, either. Despite my feelings at the time – I wrote nothing about that – just general news. I haven’t heard from him – in a long while now.

Love,

G.

12 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

12 March, 1944       1245

Dearest sweetheart –

We eat early on Sundays – i.e. earlier than I used to at home. As a result, I’m now back at my quarters and ready to write you. Today is raw and rainy – the first in about 2 weeks. The fire feels good – it’s nice and quiet and everything is fine.

Last night at 0030 I received 3 letters from you, one from Mary, one from Barbara Tucker and Mrs. Tucker and one from Eleanor. Every now and then mail will come in at a very strange hour – but typical of the Army – it is sorted out then and there and delivered. The lights were all out, I was in bed – so I read by flashlight. We use a flashlight a great deal in the country, dear. You have to or you’ll get lost. Blackout in England is of course severe. Before dark, we put up wooden covers over our windows. It’s now quite routine and will seem peculiar after the war – not to have to bother with such things.

Anyway, Sweetheart – I read your letters and enjoyed them immediately. Naturally I dozed off to sleep peacefully.

In the day before mail, I got a swell letter from your mother – and it made me very happy. She told me about having been over to my house and that she enjoyed herself. She also mentioned that my father was doing considerable hugging and kissing of you – which is ‘like son like father’ – as I see it. But best of all she asked me how I thought she was shaping up as a mother (not ‘in-law’). That was wonderful of her – to put it that way, dear. I wrote her and your dad a kind of long letter – and I guess I made myself quite clear – almost to the point of being matter-of-fact. They’ll no doubt tell you what I wrote, darling, but the sum and substance was that I told them I loved you, wanted to marry you – with their permission and wanted to be engaged – likewise with their permission. So there you are – Sweetheart. If all goes well – and I hear that there are no sincere objections – we’ll be engaged! The details – I really don’t know but probably it will involve my father’s presenting you with a ring, kissing you for me, and announcing it. That’s the way I see it from here, dear, although I admit the perspective from here is a little too far away to be satisfying.

I suppose there’s a letter in the mail now in answer to an earlier one of mine asking whether or not I should write your folks. Without waiting for a reply I wrote them and I hope they accept it. I’m just trying to save time.

Darling it seems almost too good to be true to realize that I may after all become engaged to you – and when it does materialize, I know it will be some time before I can make myself actually believe it. But I know I shall be very proud and content.

In one of your letters, dear, you say you’ll be waiting at the pier with a Rabbi. That suits me fine, although I imagine it will probably be more than just that – but not much more than that. As for getting my clothes, darling, maybe we won’t wait that long. No one knows much about demobilization – but I imagine it will take some time in the States. In that case – we get married anyway, even though I’ll still be in uniform. Oh – darling – I hope this doesn’t sound like a pipe dream. The war’s end is still beyond the horizon – and yet – end it must one fine day. May it only end sooner than we expect!

Well, Sweetheart, that’s all for now. I’ve got to write my folks. They know how I feel and what I want to do – and although I haven’t as yet had an answer to some of my more recent letters – I know what they’ll say.

This p.m. I’m going to read a copy of ‘Time’ which came yesterday (Feb. 28 issue) and then practice my clarinet. I’ve had it 3 days darling and so help me I’ve had my money’s worth. I still squeal horribly – but I’m having fun. This morning I played it awhile and dug out “You’ll Never Know – How Much I Love You” – on it – and I hope to tell you someday, darling, just how much that is. For now, solong – fondest regards to the family and to you, dear

My sincerest love

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about "You'll Never Know"

"You'll Never Know", based on a poem written by a young Oklahoma war bride named Dorothy Fern Norris, won composer Harry Warren and lyricist Mack Gordon the Oscar for best song in 1943. It was introduced by Alice Faye in the 1943 movie "Hello, Frisco" and performed again by Faye in the 1944 film "Four Jills in a Jeep," as heard here. Although the song is often credited as Faye's signature song, she never made a recording of the ballad. In later years, frequent covers of the song diminished her association with it. In 1955 it was the first song that Barbra Streisand ever recorded. Others who covered the song were Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney, Vera Lynn (above), Trini Lopez, and Bette Midler.  Here are the lyrics:

                                      YOU'LL NEVER KNOW

You'll never know just how much I miss you,
You'll never know just how much I care...
And if I tried, I still couldn't hide my love for you,
You ought to know, for haven't I told you so,
A million or more times?

You went away and my heart went with you,
I speak your name in my every prayer.
If there is some other way to prove that I love you
I swear I don't know how...
You'll never know if you don't know now.

11 March, 1944 (to her Mother)

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

11 March, 1944

Dear Mrs. B. –

I got your very sweet letter of February 28th yesterday. The earlier one was waiting for me when I got back from my leave – and I can’t understand why it took so long in getting here.

I’ve been waiting to write both you and Mr. B. for some time now – about various things concerning Wilma and myself – but if it’s hard to discuss certain matters in person, believe me – it is much more difficult to do it by mail.

You know of course how happy I’ve been since meeting Wilma; you must know by now that I’ve grown to love her very deeply and sincerely. What you probably don’t know is – how much. I appreciate the understanding and broadmindedness which both you and Mr. B. have shown concerning the two of us. When I first met Wilma and went out with her, I was just another fellow. But when I continued to see more and more of her, I couldn’t help wondering what you were thinking. It would have been the most natural thing in the world to have advised her that I was – after all – a soldier, ready for overseas duty, etc., etc. – That you didn’t resent my attention to your daughter, was admirable on your part – and I shall always be grateful to both of you for it.

Wilma, I believe, loves me. She’s younger than I am and I didn’t want to put ideas into her head that both of us might be sorry for. Frankly – I thought that when I left – she might drift away from me, and understandably so. Although she is younger than I in years – she is really very womanly, and now that several months have elapsed – we are more and more having time and endurance on our side

As far as I’m concerned – she is without doubt – the girl I would like to marry when I return home, and no doubt by now you must have drawn that conclusion. Now I know the usual thing is for the fellow to approach the parents and ask permission. I don’t intend to be unusual – even though these are such unusual times. As far as we’ve gone, though, I think we’ve been quite conventional, Wilma and I – for first of all – the fellow and girl must feel sure of themselves – before they bother their parents about things.

I’m glad you met my parents and I hope you get to like them. Every son feels his parents are swell, and I’m no different. They’ve always been plain sincere folks and I love them for it. That they love your daughter should be plain to you. She certainly stole her way into their hearts – and I don’t get a letter from home that doesn’t mention her, with a blessing attached. I’m so glad that they get along so well, because I know how essential that is.

And how about my relationship with you two? Well I admit I’m rather undemonstrative – on the surface, and words of endearment don’t flow from me as they do from some fellows’ lips. However – I know you’ll find that what I do say is sincerely meant. I liked both you and Mr. B. the first time I really met you. It was in short bursts – so to speak – at first, because I remember I would barge in, help Wilma with her coat, exchange a few words – and bingo! Off we’d go. But it’s been my business in a way to draw conclusions and make up my mind. I wasn’t wrong. I grew more and more fond of spending time with all of you – and I regret we didn’t have more of it to spend together.

Well – having surveyed Wilma, myself, my parents and hers – I may have taken a lot for granted. I hope not. I hope also that you don’t resent my sort of adding things up. I merely want Wilma’s parents to realize that I’m not a fly-by-night, but that I’ve put a lot of thought into the whole matter.

I suppose I’ve sounded painfully formal so far – and yet I don’t feel so at all; but I know you’ll make allowances. The crux of the whole thing is that I love Wilma, I believe she loves me – and that I hope to marry her – with your permission. We’ve discussed being engaged – even though we hadn’t asked you your opinion or permission, – but blame it on the times. How foolish it would be to become engaged now – I honestly can’t judge from this distance. The fact is I trust Wilma implicitly – but I’m proud of her love as I hope she is of mine – and if so – and with her parents willing – I don’t really see why we can’t be formal about it. As I said earlier in this now lengthy letter – with every passing month – we have time – on our side.

I suppose I’d better stop about at this point. I sincerely hope that neither you nor Mr. B. thinks it presumptuous of me to have brought this matter up in such a way – but it’s the only way now. When I heard you had met my folks and apparently had got along, when you wrote how much my father cared for Wilma – and when you wanted to know my opinion of you – well – I just had to write now what I’d been wanting to write for a long time. The truth is I’d be proud to be able to call you ‘Mother and Dad’, believe me, and my one goal would be to make you love me as you do Wilma.

I do hope that things work out for the best. I’m praying for it – at any rate. Until later then – best regards and so long for now.

As ever

Greg