Darling Evie,
It is a rainy Sunday evening. Before settling down to kill the evening with W. Somerset Maugham's "Razor's Edge", I thought I'd drop you these few lines.—The other fellows in the hut are getting ready to go to Colchester via the liberty-run, rain or no rain. The radio is giving out with some Limey vocal music, which is the same as saying that I wish it were something else.—Between the radio and the hubbub the guys are making, I can hardly hear myself think! Didn't write yesterday but went into town instead to spend the evening with Bert and Evelyn. It turned out that Bert had a date to go pubbing with one of his sailor friends, and Evelyn was set on going to the movies to see "Mr. Skeffington.” I did have supper with them, though, after which Bert drove us back to the center of town. I stopped at the Marks' but the house was dark—they probably went to London for the week-end. Walking along wondering what to do with myself the rest of the evening, I came to the “Headgate Cinema,” a second-rate movie-house. But they were showing a first-rate picture - "Enchanted Cottage.” It is a beautifully inspiring love story and I loved it. Robert Young and Dorothy McGuire left nothing to be desired as the romantic leads, and Herbert Marshall turns in his usual masterful performance.
When I came out it was 10:30. A full silver moon filled the streets with pale light. The liberty-run bus wasn't due to start back ’til 11:30, so I walked down to the parking lot, found a stone wall and just sat and admired the the scudding clouds and the illumined blue of the sky until it was time to start back. It was just midnight when I came back to the hut. I undressed in the dark and hit the sack.
This morning broke gray and rainy. It's been that all day. I slept in ’til 10:30, when I dressed and went to lunch with three of the boys. Sunday means chicken. Being very hungry I ate it, but I didn't enjoy it. Even now I'm trying to get rid of the taste— ugh! Don't, Chippie, when I come home (and wait until I tell you the good news!) ever offer me chicken! I never want to see the stuff again. Remember that, will you? But I’ve kept you waiting too long already to tell you this—In the mess-hall I met Sgt. Murphy, who wasted no time telling me that a teletype had just been received setting our “readiness date” forward to 6 November! Did I tell you that the last Groups that moved straight to POE to board the Queen Mary the same day did so on their “readiness date" ? That was on 10 October. We're hoping that we will also embark on our “readiness date". There is a chance that we will, but don't count on it, Chippie. If it does turn out that way, though, you can look for me to be home on 12 Nov. and a civvy by the 15th. Wouldn’t that be sumpin’?
There was no mail for me either yesterday or today. I'm mighty anxious, baby, to get your letter of the 14th! When I think what might happen back there I get a queer sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.—My whole life and being are wrapped up in you and the punkin, Sweet. If anything happened to either of you I'd have nothing left to go on with—or for. Do you think I'm being silly and morbid, honey? Perhaps so, but it is more or less instinctive to worry about those that are dearest to one's heart, and when an incident occurs to arouse ones fears, such as happened last Sunday, the feeling of apprehension isn't easy to shrug off. Please try to understand my concern in this instance, Ev, and don't think me overly sensitive because of it, it's no more than natural ~ The fact that we are so many miles apart has ever been, in itself, a source of worry for me. I feel cut off from you and utterly powerless to come to your assistance in an emergency. My constant prayer is that God keep you and all the family safe and well.
That's about all I can think of to tell you tonight, my lovely, so I'll close this, as always, with the reminder that you are the beloved and adored of
Your Phil
Love and kisses for Adele. Love to all.
Love and kisses for Adele. Love to all.
