I intend to post almost daily, and in roughly chronological order, the thousands of pages of daily love letters that my parents sent to each other during WWII and any other documents that pertain to these letters..
Haven't had mail from you since Friday—five whole days. After receiving mail almost daily, I can't help worrying. Your last letter was dated Dec. 13th. Maybe tomorrow, huh? I worked for Miss Hahn all day while Betty and Sarah cared for Adele. Oh yes, I wore my red sweater today and it looks very well. I finished putting the sleeves in last night. I received a nice New Year’s card from Flora and Marvin and will answer them shortly. The Reader's Digest came through this morning and I hope to do some reading, if Harry and Goldie don't mind. I have to go to the tailor to take out my fur coat and skirt of my suit. Betty said Adele was a perfect angel all day long. Adele was so glad to see me that she didn't know what to do with herself. Adele really says “pop” and it sounds so cute. Tomorrow—New Year's Eve will be our third apart in the almost five years we have known each other. It will be just another night for me and a very, very lonesome one, too. I'm missing you more than ever lately. Keep well baby, I love you dearly.
Christmas V-Mail From Milton S. Brown to Evelyn Strongin:
Christmas Day, 1943.
Dearest Evvie,
Just finished Xmas dinner, and if you all fared as well, then you have no kick coming. We had turkey, potatoes, corn, peas, mixed pickles, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, coffee, bread and butter, and hard candies. Wow! I'm so full, I don't care if I never eat again. This afternoon I'm going to clean up the surplus papers laying around for filing and then take it easy the rest of the afternoon. Later in the evening, I intend to write to Red and mail off the other five pictures. There was no mail again yesterday, and today being Xmas, there is no delivery or posting of mail. My last two letters are still waiting to go out. If the mail is unusually slow in reaching you, Chippie, you'll understand why. All in all, I've only received two letters in the past week, yours of the 14th, and Dotty's of the 9th. I have already answered Dot’s letter, that is, there was a letter on the way to her when she wrote, and I answered yours last night. This has been a very quiet Xmas for me, and consequently I’m rather it a loss for words. Too, my last two letters covered just about everything I had to say for the time being, and I'm very much afraid that you'll have to be content with a few lines of V-mail for the next few days. I may have a furlough coming up within the next two or three weeks, Sweet, so you'll understand why I'm not sending you any money this month. Truth is, I don't know exactly what I'll need, so I'll hold onto whatever I have leftover and send it along next month. Of course this is all subject to your immediate need of the money. If you really cannot do without it or need it for something more important than my furlough, let me know immediately and I'll send it along. You needn’t caution me to be sparing with my funds—I'm naturally inclined to be anyway. The higher the amount I can send you, the better I feel about it. Until tomorrow, darling. I am your ever lovin’
On this Xmas eve there is somehow an added tenderness in my thoughts of you and home and family. Landmarks in time have a tendency to impel one to look back. Thus, tonight, my thoughts are largely of last Xmas. I remember how “I'm Dreaming of a White Xmas” struck a little too close to home, and how very few of us less fortunate soldiers listened with a lump in our throats as it came over the radio every so often. I remember how I lay on my bunk that last Xmas eve and longed for home with a great and almost unbearable longing. I remember wondering then, in what circumstances this Xmas would find me, and what state the world in general would be in. And now—I have the answer to all my questions. I must say that the past year has brought many surprises, not the least of which is the fact that being far from home is no longer the tearing hurt it used to be. Time has the most wonderful way of dulling the pain—or else pain has the quality of anaesthetizing the sufferer, making him impervious to its proddings beyond a certain point. Whatever the reason, tonight I look forward to the next Xmas with no misgivings, whatever. I have the utmost confidence that the ugly interlude of war and all its attending misery will be a thing of the past; that together we will look back on this Xmas and remark on the strange workings of a compensating fate that could bring parting and sorrow and reunion and joy, all in the space of a single year. I remember telling you, just before I left, that when I had once again been returned to your side in a world made secure against war, the empty heartless days and months and years of waiting and longing for peace would seem as a day in retrospect. We have climbed the hill, Baby, and the way down will be easier in direct ratio to the difficulty of the uphill struggle. Look to the future, Sweet, and see it as I do, a conclusion to the sordid spectacle of war, the glory of peace, and the never-ending happiness and peace of mind that are inseparable from the accomplished fact of “us” reunited. Finally, on this Xmas eve I charge you, my dearly beloved, to have a deep and abiding faith in a beneficent fate, and the uncompromising and unalterable conviction that God willing, it will be so.
Yesterday, as you know I was on K.P. I worked hard until 4:15 P.M. on the “China Clipper” which is the G.I. term for the dishwashing machine. (Or did you know?) Pvt. Collins was good enough to relieve me at that time so that I could get ready to go to services. At 6:15 ten enlisted men and three officers in a G.I. truck pulled out of Camp bound for the Chanukah services at a nearby town. The night was bitter cold, and before we had gone ten miles, our feet were damn near frozen. On the truck, I got a hunch, and asked if any of the fellows were from Philly. Not only was my hunch correct, but it turned out the one fellow who was from Philly used to run around with Yale when he lived at Whitaker and Loudon. We hashed it over old times and, for a time, I could forget the discomfort of my painfully cold feet. His name is Marron. I didn't get his first name. After what seemed an interminable time, we finally arrived at the Chapel. It was now about 8 o'clock. The Chapel serves two denominations, Protestant and Jewish. The ground floor is used by the former and the basement by the latter. We arrived to find the place jammed to the doors. What a conglomeration of uniforms! Every rank from private to major was represented. The majority was by far American, but there were plenty of British Army and RAF men there. The ladies were very much in evidence, too, and U.S. Army nurses and “WACs” rubbed shoulders with British “WAAF”s and ATS girls. Altogether, the gathering was one of the most interesting and colorful it has ever been my privilege to see. I was all eyes (as usual), and I was deeply interested in noting the many different types of Jews gathered together there. They were from widely scattered points of the globe, and from all walks of life, and were an absorbing study for yours very lovingly. Many, many things impressed me during the course of the evening, but none more so than the easy cordiality of privates and majors and corporals and lieutenants, etc. I think I was the only one in the congregation who was aware of the phenomenon. Everyone seemed to take it for granted that here in the synagogue, everyone met on an equal footing. Strangers, after a few minutes’ conversation, were acquaintances. The services were brief and simple. Then the chairs were removed. Refreshments were brought in and after much difficulty because of the congestion, a small space was cleared for dancing to the music of the phonograph-radio. A few of the fellows entertained (quite passably) and a good time, I think, was had by all. At 11 o'clock, after the Chaplain had played the two National Anthems, the gang broke up in a flurry of coats and hats and address-takings and roar of GI Motors. If anything, the night had grown colder, and to add insult to injury, Klein, who was driving, took a wrong turn, and after a full hours’ riding, arrived at our starting point. We were all too miserably cold and tired and sleepy to see any humor in the situation, nd everyone cursed volubly. Except me—I was too numb to even open my mouth. My feet were killing me. When almost unbelievably we finally did get back to camp and to bed, it was 2 A.M. My feet were two chunks of ice, but I was so tired that I slept anyway. This morning my feet were still too cold for comfort, although I was covered by three blankets.
Today I did some work on the pay-roll and kept generally busy around the Orderly Room, and followed the usual routine. Your letter of Dec. 14 arrived in my absence yesterday and I found it on my shelf this morning. It had been about four or five days since I had heard from you, Sweet, so your letter was doubly welcome. Hope you didn't build up any hopes as far as the contest was concerned. It was, as most of them are, purely an advertising stunt, and the best customer is usually the best winner. I rather expected the outcome to be disappointing, so I wasn't overly surprised at your letter. What difference, Baby, what anyone else thinks of Adele? I think, and I know you do, too, that she is an uncommonly attractive baby, and nothing in this world, much less a mere stranger, could change our minds about that. Aren’t I right?
Sorry, I steered you wrong as to Richie's whereabouts, Honey, but some misinformation, which isn't at all scarce around here, gave me the wrong impression. Tell Bob and Lena I'm sorry if I built up any false hopes, only to let them down.
It is now Christmas Day (12:01), darling, and again, I'm wishing you all the blessings of the New Year. May they be great and plentiful. A special hug for the punkin’ for me, tonight, my eternal love to you my adored Evvie and my love to all.
Your adoring husband, Phil.
P.S. Please send the package as your earliest convenience. Don't forget to remember the hankies. Some of my old ones will do nicely. Thanks, Baby.
Couldn't find time while in London to write, Sweet, but never fear—you won't be cheated. Arrived in London 7:00 P.M. Sunday night after trip that wasn't at all boring 'cause I read all the way (Detective Stories). Simmons and I paired off and headed for the Hans Crescent, where we checked our superfluous equipment and ate and reserved bunks for that night. You will note that this is contrary to my usual custom of spending the first night at the Turkish Bath. That was because the baths are closed on Sunday. After we ate, we looked at the time (9:00), so we decided to make a movie before hitting the hay. “Claudia” was just around the corner at the Odeon, so we strolled over. In London, at night, one must “stroll”—it's that dark. However, we soon learned that the last show on Sunday ends at 9 o'clock, so a bit dashed as the English say, we went back to the Club, where we drowned our disappointment in a couple of Cokes and went next door to the annex and our bunks and a good night's sleep. Next morning we were up early. (I won’t say bright—you know me too well.) The clock said 9 A.M., which was perfect 'cause the cinemas don't open till 10. We finally went to see “Claudia.” I can best describe it as one of those pictures that loses much of its appeal if the one you love isn't there beside you. There are tender, reminiscent moments that made me want to reach over and squeeze your hand (or sump’n) 'cause it was so like “us.” Altogether, a delightful picture, Sweet, and one which I would have given much for you to share with me. Dorothy McGuire is a sweet and appealing pixey, and there is a freshness about her that contrasts very charmingly with the usual run of sultry Hollywood “glamour girl.” Robert Young is perfect in a sympathetic, fool-proof role as Claudia's “all-wise” young hubby. Don't miss it, Baby, you'll love it. After the show, Simmons and I parted company, he had “places” to go. As for me, I was determined to make up for lost time and went directly to the “Warner’s,” where “Thank Your Lucky Stars” was the attraction. This one contains many surprises, such as Bette Davis singing that ditty you mentioned a while back in one of your letters—“They're Either Too Young or Too Old”; Olivia de Haviland, Ida Lupino and George Tobias in a gum-chewing, mouth-twisting, hoydenish “jitterbug” number; Ann Sheridan, assisted by a chorus of lovelies singing “Love isn't Born—it's Made!” The lyrics are suggestive, and to my way of thinking, make a lot of sense, indeed. If you know the words, I think you'll agree, Chippie. But then, maybe I'm prejudiced, huh? There are other highly entertaining “numbers” among which—“Ice Cold Katie” with an all-negro cast. Then too, there is Joan Leslie, who needs only to smile to make the whole picture worth while—she's that sweet. In addition, she sings, imitates, and generally brightens up the scene. Eddie Cantor is much in evidence (he plays a dual role) and provides the slap-stick. This too, is well worth seeing. When I got out, it was 5 o'clock (you were probably having your lunch then, Honey) and I was plain hungry! So I ducked into a small restaurant that boldly proclaimed that it served “American” food. Remember how I was disappointed in Pinoli’s spaghetti? Ditto! ’Nuff said! I'm through experimenting from now on. I'll eat at the Eagle or Hans Crescent—exclusively! As I said before, I was determined to make up for lost time, so when I glanced around Leicester Square and a big sign caught my eye, I went directly there. The sign said “Flesh and Fantasy,” and I had wanted to see it ever since I had read the reviews—some weeks before. “Flesh and Fantasy” is the type of picture that used to make me hold tightly to my arm—remember? It is interesting rather than entertaining, but I enjoyed it nevertheless. Was I tired after seeing three shows in one day? Hardly! I relax best in the movies and the unprecedented program of three movies in one day left me as fresh as when I started. You don't believe it? Some day we'll do it together, Baby, and you will judge for yourself. Anyhow, it was now 9 o'clock and time for the “bawth.” Russell Square is about four stops on the underground from Leicester Square, and I was there in no time. From then on it was the usual story: Heat, steam, massage, shower and—bed. (Sound of snoring.)
I was to meet Simmons at the Eagle for breakfast next morning, so when I awoke and found it was nine o'clock, I rolled out immediately. When I reached the Club, Simmons was nowhere in sight, so I scooted upstairs for a hair-cut and shave. Unfortunately, there was a queue (line) and I wasn't out of there till 11:15. In the cafeteria, I looked around. Still no Simmons! So I ate my breakfast alone, (with about 20 other G.I.’s, Dogfaces, or what have-you). Speaking of faces reminds me and brings up me up short. I don't know how I missed it, but I'm forgetting a very important two hours of the previous day. Let's go back. Do you mind? After “Claudia,” Simmons said he had some shopping to do. The words were no sooner out of his mouth than I said, let's go! Suddenly I remembered (or was reminded) about “Royal Dalton,” and this was the perfect opportunity. To make a long story short, after a half-hour walk, we arrived at “Selfridges,” which, as nearly as I can explain it, is the “Wanamaker's” of London. After Simmons had bought some odds and ends, such as a cigarette lighter and some flashlight batteries, I inquired where I might find “Royal Dalton” ware. I was directed to the first floor, (which isn't the ground floor; it's the second floor. The ground floor is the first floor.) If this confuses you, Sweet, skip it, I'll straighten it out for you some time. I asked the saleslady to show me “Royal Dalton.” All she peered intently at me for a moment—and then, as if coming to a conclusion, and to my utter astonishment, answered me in Jewish. It turned out she only had two pieces of Royal Dalton in stock, although the place was crammed with crockery and china of all descriptions. First, she showed me a beautiful tea set in red and gold and white (really beautiful) but when I heard the price, I couldn't help wondering what was so precious about this stuff. £41 (no less) or $164. When I explained to the sales lady the circumstances under which I was shopping, she was only too eager to see to it that her “lantsman” didn't get gypped. The other piece of Royal Dalton was a vase, but even at £1 it was no bargain. I didn't like it at first sight and told her so. She smiled approvingly and confessed she didn't like it either. A small vase (purely ornamental) and of no utilitarian value whatever, caught my eye. It was an ivory color rather than white and decorated very attractively in oil paint with apples, grapes, etc. It turned out to be “Royal Worcester.”—the price—a little over $8.00. There were many more really attractive figurines, (especially a real Dresden China Doll) which I would have liked to buy, but the prices of china are sky high here in Britain, as are all luxuries, and I just couldn't bring myself to indulge. However, if your friend, Mrs. Cohen, would care to give me a definite idea of what she wants and what she cares to spend, I'll be only too glad to do my best on her behalf. Or if you, Chippie, would like about $20 worth of that China Doll I mentioned—it's yours. Just say the word. One more item before I leave the subject. Although it is possible through much red tape, to ship stuff home, Overseas shipment can only be insured to P.O.E., and from the condition of some of the packages reaching me, I, for one, wouldn't want to risk it.
We were walking to the bus stop when a photographer’s window caught our eye. On an off chance, we went in to inquire about having our pictures made. Luckily, they had film. More, they were doing a thriving business. The girl behind the desk promised that the picture would be ready by two o'clock. The price was 15/6 (about $3.10) for six of the enclosed. I thought this very reasonable, especially after I had seen the pictures. I was well satisfied with the result. What do you think, Chippie? I know you would prefer it autographed, Sweet, but the finish of the picture won't allow it, so I'll do the next best thing. I'll autograph it on the back.
Now where was I? On re-tracing, I find that I had just finished breakfast (Tuesday.) Well, I waited a little while for Simmons, suspecting that he had come and gone while I was upstairs at the barber’s. This turned out to be the case. I still had a few hours to kill before train time, and since I had meant to see “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” I thought I would “catch up” with it. The Carlton in Haymarket is a short walk from the Club and I set out for there (in all eagerness, I must admit). Imagine my chagrin, then, when on reaching theatre, I found that the first show started at 2:30 P.M.! This made it impossible for me as it is a very long picture and would not be over till 5, which was train time. On the walk over, I had noticed “The North Star” playing at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's place, and after swallowing my disappointment, I back-tracked. I didn't stay sad for long, once inside the theater 'cause the picture is definitely one of the best of the year. It has everything from toe-tapping Russian rhythms to homespun down-to-earth comedy; from beauty of photography and landscape, to the ugliness and horror of war and murder; from the tenderness of young love, to the horror and pathos of women and children suffering the brutality of the invader. Truly a great picture, Sweet, and one you should take the Moms to see. However, I must warn you of a tearful time (Mom will love it), as the dramatics are calculated to make strong men cry.
When returning to the Hans Crescent for my gas mask and book, which I had checked there, I ran smack into Simmons. He had the pictures with him. His were not nearly as good as mine, and he was somewhat disappointed. They would have been good—only his face was out of focus. Just then, the rest of the 1807 gang popped in, so after everyone had collected his stuff we made for the station. The trip back was a long one as the train was held up at every station. I hit the hay about 11:30. Disappointed 'cause no mail had arrived for me. No mail today either, which makes the fourth consecutive mail-less day. Tomorrow, I'm on K.P. again, but I won't mind it too much if there's a letter or two there waiting for me at the end of the day. Tomorrow I think, is “Chanukah,” the feast of the candles, and the chaplain of the 8th Fighter Command, Lt. Feinman, sent Klein and I, the only two Jews in the company, greetings, by way of mimeographed letter. The synagogue in Norwich has invited us to services and a dance, and if I can get someone to pull my K.P. from about 3:30 till closing, about 7, I'll go. And now, Sweet, it's after 11 P.M., so I know you'll excuse me so I can get some sleep for a hard day tomorrow. I rise at 5 to go on K.P. so I don't have too much time. Goodnight my lovely Evvie. My love for you is as constant as my breathing, my memories as glorious as my most-inspired dreams, and as vividly real as the touch of your lips, which is ever-present in my heart and mind. Kiss the cherub for “us,” darling, and give my love to all my loved ones. I am
It is cold and raining and generally miserable outside, but it affects me not at all. I'm more or less accustomed to dreary weather over here. Besides, who gives a damn about the weather? I have two freshly received letters before me and in my heart there is sunshine and blue skies. The letters are dated 4 Nov. (V-mail) and 9th of Nov. (Air-mail). Very strange and unfathomable are the ways of God and the Post Office. (Why that's good, think I'll write a book). Usually the V-mail is more recent than the Air-mail, but today—vice versa.
By all means, Sweet, buy Helen's fur coat. I see it as clearly as though it were before me. What's more, I remember how you looked in it—you tried it on, you know, the very first time you saw it. The picture of you in that. d-i-r-n-d-l [dirndl] style coat is very pretty indeed, and I'd love for you to have it. Fifty dollars off the bankroll now won't be as sorely missed now as it will be later, Chippie and what are all these “many other things to buy” that you mention? Too, I intend to send you all the money I have above my basic needs on New Year's Day. I figure it will be 40 or 50 dollars. I'd like nothing better than having you use it to pay for the coat. If there's a suspicion in your mind that I'm trying to inveigle you into this in the hope that it will save me the price of a new fur coat later on—forget it 'cause you know darn well, Baby, that you are perfectly welcome to spend our last dollar for anything, anytime you see fit. No, darling don't think for a minute that I'm through buying you fur coats after this one. Just hope that I'll be able to afford them, and you can rest assured that I'll take the keenest delight in buying them for you. So forget your native aversion to spending money, and tell Helen you'll buy her coat—and thanks. The news that you finally sprung and bought yourself a new suit was music to my ears, (eyes?).—for more reasons than one. In the first place, it does my heart good to know that you have acquired something that you have wanted for a long time, and in the second place it proves to me, better than any overt evidences, that your morale and your hopes are not suffering too grievously in my absence. As long as you evince the desire for new things and new places, your state of mind is healthy and normal, and no one knows better than I, how close you have been to the opposite category—despair and hopelessness. That coffee table you mentioned sounds like a good buy to me, and if your mother doesn't acquire it, I think you should. I'm surprised that your sharp business acumen deserted you in this instance. You know that eventually we will spend 40 or 50 dollars for something very like it. You should have bought it if you liked it. And mentally computed a saving of some $35. 00. (Or is that “hay”?) Don't worry too much about spending our reserves, there are more where they came from. Which all reminds me of something I had meant to discuss in previous letters, but always managed to forget. If you have been reading the papers, you will know that plans are already in advanced stages for ensuring the immediate future of demobilized servicemen. The talk now is about going giving ex-soldiers from three to five-hundred dollars (depending on length of service, domestic and overseas). Besides, there is a long-range program of social security for everyone in the offing. The plan that most interested me, however, is the one whereby, upon demobilization, a soldier (married with one child) would receive $80.00 per month for one year while taking a course at a nearby college or university in any subject he might desire. My thought was (and is) that a year of schooling in journalism, while my family was being provided for, [well, almost) $20 per week] might set me on the road I wish to go. I realize that there are obstacles to be overcome, but I'm hoping that I'll be able to take advantage of the opportunity if and when it materializes. The point I'm getting at, though, is that you should shouldn't sacrifice too much of the present to the future, which usually manages to take care of itself. I trust your sense of values implicitly, Chippie, to influence you or dictate to you the advisability of buying anything at anytime, so don't look to me for an O.K. Your O.K. is plenty good enough for me. This “Royal Dalton” ware that you seem to think I can buy here in England is new to me, but that's beside the point. Granted, I had enough cash on me to purchase, (very unlikely, since I send all my spare cash to you) how in the world could I send it home? Even if I were permitted to post anything so bulky and heavy, I’d probably have to lug it back to camp from London ’cause we can't mail anything except from our own Post Office. Altogether, though, I'm not exactly sure of my facts, but I mean to investigate the possibilities and if it can be done, why I'll do it, O.K.?
I forgot to say that brother Jack’s V-mail was enclosed, but he doesn't tell us a helluva lot, does he? However, the fact that he is concerned with sketching augurs well for his morale and health and general peace of mind. I would like to know where he is though, and what the hell he is doing besides drawing his buddies’ pusses. Why the devil doesn't he write to me? Or has he forgotten his big brudder?
I have been so busy in the Orderly Room ever since I took over as Personnel Clerk that I have no time at all for my own affairs—worse luck! The evenings are invariably taken up by my correspondence with you. Currently, I'm in the throes of overhauling the filing system here (it's a mess) as I did previously in the Station Ordnance office, but it's going to take longer than I at first thought. In the meantime, I have been unable to find the time to answer Red’s letter. Of course, I could sacrifice one of “your” letters to get one off to him, but I find myself unwilling to do so. I can't feel too guilty about it though, 'cause he took his sweet time about sending me the first letter. No doubt the opportunity to get off a reply will present itself within the next week. I shall forward your best regards at that time, Baby.
Tomorrow I'm off to London again, as I told you yesterday, and I hope to “get around” sufficiently to make the “write up” interesting reading. By the way, you didn't tell me anything about “Kiss and Tell,” except that Harry and Milton paid your way. How’s about it, Chippie? (Sometime when you're stuck for words, huh?)
On reading over your letter, I know that you would like “something from England as a remembrance.” Do you think for a minute that I'll come home empty handed? Foolish girl?
You didn't know I had to do K.P.? Since when? Why, since the 1st Sergeant decided that T/5’s would pull K.P.—that’s since when.
Did I remember to get down on my knees and beg you to take a nice (not a snapshot!!) picture in your new suit? I didn't? Then I do so now—see?
I've been waiting patiently to hear that you have bought or intend to buy or even might buy Xmas presents for the folks with “my” 50 bucks. Not a word! Why! And what about the Indian sweaters I so nicely asked you to make for yourself and the punkin’?—and you bawl me out for neglecting to answer your questions! Don't misunderstand, Baby, I don't mean to impose on you. If you find it into trying (I can remember when you enjoyed “knitting”), why just forget it. All I'm asking is that you tell me about it. Ferstay?
Just found out that my V-mail letter to Richie never left the station. It seems one can't send V-mail to someone in England, so it has been laying in one of the other huts for a whole month now. Am I burnt up?!! No wonder I haven't heard from him! I'll stick it in an envelope and mail it out right now. Fortunately, I wrote “free mail” to Eddie. With so many of the old gang over here, I can't understand why no one has contacted me. Oh well, maybe they will yet. And now, my darling, I'll say “Au revoir”—with all my love to you and the cherub, and my love to all. I am
I thought you were through writing anything but V-mail; especially since my file contains letters for every day in the past few months. Imagine my surprise and gratification, then, when I received your long 5-page typewritten letter of November 22-23. As if this weren't enough—there was Mrs. Benis’ letter enclosed. There was a letter from Ruthie too. Definitely one of my better days. Your letter, Sweet was intimate, cheery, and altogether a delight to read. Thanks a million, Baby, for taking the time and trouble to write so long and so well for your ever-lovin’ hubby's benefit. It made me very happy to know that you are getting out and around these days; visiting our old friends, going to the theatre and the movies, etc. I like to think of you enjoying yourself, Honey, so do us both a good turn by continuing to “get around.” I'm even more sorry than you, Chippie, that I was unable to attend my daughter’s first birthday, but I have every hope of being there when the second rolls around. I can't, for the life of me, understand why Lil and Myra are sulking. I'm sure you couldn't intentionally do anything that might hurt their feelings. If they harbor a grudge, it must be because of some misunderstanding on their part. Hope they take the trouble to straighten it all out. Excuse me, Honey; four of the boys want me to make up a fifth for a poker game, and since you have given me the “go ahead” signal and because I hate to spoil their fun (to say nothing of my own) I’ll indulge. Wish me luck Chippie—
Well, that didn't take long. We played exactly 20 minutes. The game broke up at the end of that time because two of the guys went broke. As a matter of fact, everyone lost but Strongin,—he came out of it eight dollars richer. Not a bad 20 minutes “work,” eh? Now where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh yes, I’d just finished talking about the unusual behavior of Lil and Myra. I think I've exhausted the subject. Let's talk about the punkin’ awhile. Did you get her new shoes yet? Those bunny slippers sound mighty cute, did you buy them? I'm not surprised you're still receiving compliments on Adele's blue outfit—it certainly is a honey. Why do you ask me whether or not you ought to enter Adele in Wolpe’s contest? You knew that you couldn't possibly receive my answer in time. Not that I care—one way or the other, understand. I don't see any point in it, but on the other hand, it can't harm anyone either. Since you did enter her, though, I wish both her and you luck (not that she'll need it with her looks). Don't you think she's a little too heavy for her age, Sweet? She appeared just a little too plump for my liking in that last batch of snapshots. Remember, I don't care for fat babies—don't let her get that way if you can possibly avoid it. I guess she's taking more than eight steps at a time by now, bless her. li’l heart. Why don't you tell me more about yourself, Chippie? Have you gained any weight lately? What do you weigh now? How are you feeling? Generally your query about my chances for making T/4 came as no surprise. I was wondering how long it would be before you got around to asking it. At the same time, I was wondering how I would answer it. I think I'll resort to the universal or stock phrase around here—“I don't know what to tell you”—(and I don’t). Maybe—maybe not. Day after tomorrow I'm slated to go on pass again and I'm looking forward to it. Tell you all about it first chance, I get, Baby, so if a day or two elapses between my letters, you'll understand why. Nothing of interest has occurred around here today and I'm just about “wrote out.” Tell Mom I'm still waiting for her letter. My love to all my folks. My best regards to the neighbors with a special wish that Mr. Frommer suffers no after-effects from his accident. Kiss my daughter for me. What can I say to you, darling, to convey the full extent and depth of my love for you? Remember how much I loved you last time I was “home”? Well, that's how much I love you now, in addition to the longing that can only be measured by the miles between us. I adore you, Angel. I am just as then
Again I must apologize for not writing. Last night I was in an unusually grumpy mood. (maybe it was because I hadn't received any mail for four days) and writing just wasn't in me. Tonight, though, I'm feeling much better, thank you, due to a coupla “morale lifters”: (1) Received a $15.00 check from S & D (2) Received a letter (Vmail—Dec.1) from you (3) Saw a swell show tonight. Besides, I put in a lotta work today, and that always makes me feel good. The $15.00 will be included in your next monthly “allowance,” Baby, and I wish you'd use it to buy a new dress or two. I know you need them by now, so don't begrudge the money, Chippie. You mention a shopping trip with Fay and Ellie (my best to them, by the way), but you neglected to say what you were shopping for. Guess I'll have to wait for your next to find out. Oh well, I may as well wait—I'm not going anyplace for the next year or two (I'm only kiddin’). Did I mention receiving Jack N.’s letter along with yours? He must be having a pretty tough time of it in the Colorado Rockies. Incidentally, that long letter he asked me to write was already on the way when he wrote, so I'm still one-up on him. I'll wait for a reply to that one before I write again. I'm glad, Chippie, that you set me right on your working so steadily for Miss Hahn. I hope you don't change your mind about quitting after Christmas. I don't have to enlarge on my views in this matter, Sweet, you know them well by now. ’Nuff said? You mention the absorbing fact that Adele discovered her “belly button.” I'm surprised at your loose choice of words, dear, don't you mean her “navel”? (listen to him!) And don’t you mean she “rediscovered” her whatchamacallit? Seems to me you wrote that same sentence a long time ago—or am I dreaming? At any rate, I (whatsamatter with me tonight?) bet she's as funny as a barrel o’ monkeys when she squeals her delight at her great “discovery.” (I can see her very plainly, Sweet, never fear.) That doesn't make me any less anxious to see her latest pictures, though. C’mon Xmas! I think they should be here by then. The USO show tonight was the usual very entertaining blend of music, comedy, dancing and singing. There were three girls in the show, all taller than average and all pretty. The MC, as usual, was the hub of the show, he monopolized the stage most of the time, but he was funny—and went over big with the GIs. Received the first letter from Red this afternoon. He’s still in hospital. He sends his best to you and asks after the punkin’.
As for me, I'm sending you all the love that's in me (and believe me it's more than considerable) and my fondest thoughts are reserved for the cherub. Keep well, and happy, my Angels. My love to Mom, all the Pallers, all the Strongins and all the neighbors. My deepest sympathy to the Frommers in their adversity. Tell “Pop” to get well quick. Cheerio, my Sweet.
