6 Aug 1944

Sunday

Lady Mine,

Sunday night and I am back here in the office to type you a letter and, lordy lordy, what little there is to tell you but I shall make an effort anyway for I want to talk to my paper doll for a while even though I do not have anything of importance to say. I guess really I seldom do, eh Toots?

Today has been a long and lonesome day. I was up at half after six this AM however, and then off to the green sward to play myself a game of golf in the early morning hours before old sol burned down so hard it would not be any fun. I was good today honeybunch with and eighty two for the eighteen. I put it that way so that you would not think that I was talking about the first nine. And I counted every stroke too (someone was watching me). I honestly feel guilty every time that I go to the golf course and then come back and read the paper about the tough fighting that some of the boys are doing. I wouldn’t tell anyone else but you that I was playing golf these days. Then back for lunch and the two o’ clock afternoon (Sunday only) matinee’. Saw “The Eve of St. Mark” and it was a right pleasant show to see. Did you see that Bing Crosby picture that I mentioned, “Going My Way”? Don’t forget to see that dearest for if I know my little Puddin’ Head you will like it very much. Then I caught myself a short nap at the house before Sunday night’s cold supper at the mess. I would go to the show again tonight after this letter but I have recently seen it so I guess for once that I will pass it up, though that usually does not deter me. Thus Sunday is over. I have wondered how you, darling, were doing this day. You spoke of hating Sundays alone recently in a letter. I thought when I was trying to have my nap what fun it would be to be home with you today. That late Sunday breakfast and lolling around and a little love thrown in during the day sometime. Then very likely our usual Sunday movie. A guy sure gets homesick thinking that sort of thoughts. Just the same it would have been heaven.

I cut a little poem out of the paper, dearest, I want to send you. I didn’t write it but it sure strikes the words that I would have liked to have thought up myself to say to you if I could think up that sort of thing, rather I mean, if I could put that sort of thing in the paper words for I do think them.

What I thought was the malaria getting the old boy seems to have passed off in the last couple of days and I am sure glad, for I simply hate to feel badly and also I was a little worried, for that stuff does not always leave you for many years, relapses occurring from time to time regardless of where you are. There is of course different sorts of fever rampant here, none of which are bad, except malaria, but which makes one feel rotten for a spell. The sand flies, of which we have plenty, give one kind of mild fever so there is no telling. I suppose that now that I have said that it is gone from me that tomorrow I will have a nice headache and all. Well I am not superstitious (that’s not correct, oh well).

I have thought so much of Jolly Ford. I am sure sorry for Sing. You know that they were childhood sweethearts and have been around each other all their lives. Jolly was a fine man and devoted to his family. He did not want very much to go to war. He never said much but I definitely gathered as much over the time I was around him. He was willing of course but not red hot like some. That is the way it goes and if they let those people off lightly this time that caused all of this, and I don’t mean the leaders only, either, it will be the worlds biggest blunder if not crime. Yet I have the feeling that in the long run that that is likely to happen. I hope not, I sure hope not. Why did Sing pick Huston to live in? (I know how to spell Houston—typewriter). Any more word of Jake? Do they know anything about Beau yet? I suppose that he will be a bit of time before he gets into active combat, they all have to go through a short course of training over there you know. I sure wish him all the luck. Is Woppy White at Randolph still, I mean, yet? I understood that he had asked for a transfer. I suppose on account of his family trouble. Was it you that told me that?

Gee, I am full of questions. “You never tell me anything”. Where have I heard that before?

You should see my fuzzy and I mean fuzzy mustachio. For lack of something to interest me I have been diligently cultivating one these last two weeks and it is really getting long. I am going to let it grow and grow this time until I have one of those Eyetalian [Italian] kinds and it is well on its way. I shall not cut of such a work of art either when you greet me with that “Get that thing off of there, right now”. Do you think that you will be able to get used to kissing an Eyetalian [Italian] gentleman with flowing handle bars? I am determined too; I will not cut it off for it is the time of life that a guy like me should be in possession of one of those. A guy’s wife should be able, in fact, should be proud of such an accomplishment. Besides I want to look fierce in case the enemy attacks us here--.

Well my very dearest this has just been a chat--- for as I say there is nothing of real interest to convey. I want to say though Diane dear that I love and adore you and am oh so very glad and happy that you are my wife, no man ever had a better. I just plain love you sweet lady. Adios.

Edwin