Sept. 16, 1942

 

My dearest,

 

            When I came home this noon, I found letter #3 for September waiting for me.  It was started the 8th, finished the 9th, and mailed the 9th, just one week ago today.  I told you in a former letter that I received #1 for September.  However #2, which you said you wrote at McDowell’s on Sunday, the 6th, has not yet arrived.  It probably will in a day or two.  And surprise of surprises --- what do you think I got in the mail yesterday afternoon?  Letter #4 for July, that I had given up for lost.  I don’t know where it has been all this time.  It was postmarked July 10, and was sent airmail the same as ever.  And it was not stamped that it had been miss sent or anything.  So now I have all your letters through #3 for September, except #2.

            In your letter of July 9 --- thanks for the two sixpence pieces (one British, the other Eire), and the two post cards of Irish homes.  I was interested in reading about the countryside, the villages, and the homes.  I’m glad that I finally got the letter.

            And now for your letter of Sept. 8 and 9 --- I was glad to get the 3 pence piece as I did not have one.  And what funny things the charitable organizations sell on the streets.  I couldn’t imagine what all those things could possibly be until I read it in your letter.

It was grand that you had a chance to see Al Jolson and those other performers.  It must have been quite a thrill to se them in person, and from what you wrote, it must have been a very nice show.  I read in the paper recently that Al Jolson was abroad to give performances for the service men.

I was awfully glad to hear about your room.  From your excellent description and the floor plan you drew, I can picture it in my mind.  Thanks for telling me all about it so clearly.

Yes, Ginger is well and peppy as ever.  And Rover is lazy as ever.  I asked Dolores that night over at Constines if she knew about Mittens.  She said that she hadn’t seen the people that have him for quite some time.  But the last she knew, they had him and he was well.

Are you sure that you take a size 6 glove?  I thought that you probably took a larger size, although I don’t know much about the sizes of men’s gloves, and how large a 6 would be.  And do you want thin kid gloves for dress, or heavy ones, or just medium ones?  Don’t tell anyone else that you want the things you told me about, or you will probably get the same things from everyone.  And I want to get them for you myself.  So I will do as you asked me to do in a former letter --- tell folks to send you cigars, tobacco, or edible things.  But to go back to the gloves --- I bet they were size 9, and you looked at it upside down, because I think my dad wears size 8, and you would take a larger size than he would.  And the folks got Roy some gloves, and his hands are rather small, and I believe they got him size 7.  Please let me know, darling.

Your letter was so nice and long, dear, and I enjoyed every word of it.  I don’t think your writing is bad.  In fact, I can always read it easily, and I think it is very legible.  It is always so wonderful to hear from you.

I saw an article in the paper a day or two ago, and intended to cut it out, and I will see if I can find the paper tonight, and if so, I will put the clipping in this letter.  You have probably heard about it by now, however, that men abroad cannot vote.  I didn’t read the article carefully, and do not know why not --- whether it will clutter the mails, or for what reason.  Well, it isn’t too important an election anyway.  It isn’t like a presidential election.

I am enclosing a letter from Grandpa Klock, and your Commercial Travelers card.

By the way --- you are upset because you have some gray in your hair.  I saw Bob Sturdevant on the street today, and he is getting very grey, --not so much on top, but much worse than you on the sides and on his temples.  And he is about your age, you know.

Yesterday and today have been very hot, and sunny.  It seems like midsummer now.

I was all alone today in the office.  Mrs. McLaughlin’s cold was pretty bad today, and she felt sort of bum, so stayed home. I managed all right, but was quite busy.  One sort of funny incident came up, although I know it won’t sound funny when I tell you.  One of the men in the colored M. P. Company stationed here came in to get a loan to go home for furlough.  He was a short, very black young man and a corporal.  He lived in Augusta, and was telling me what a nice place it was.  Then I asked him has address, and he said 1112 Swan’s Alley.  It struck me funny, as I always thought of a swan as a beautiful white bird, and to name an alley after it, and then to have a lot of Negroes living there!  And later in the afternoon I had to go down on Centenary St. to try to find a woman --- and I didn’t find her --- but what I did find!  I was so embarrassed --- but I can’t write it all.  It is much more effective to tell it with all the details.  So remind me to tell you of the Centenary St. episode sometime, and I think you will be amused and disgusted at the same time.  Honestly, the more I see of some types of men and women, the more I realize how many fools there are in this world.  And just before closing time a woman came in, and said that her son had gone out somewhere from camp, and she thought he was on his way abroad, and did I think he would write and tell her where he was.  And another woman phoned and said that her brother was shot in the head, and did I think he was hurt.  Now Carlton, I ask you, did you ever hear of such nonsense?

Last night, my dad, auntie, and I went to a supper at Masonic Temple, and afterwards we ladies played cards while the commandery had their meeting.  Auntie and I played pinochle with Mrs. Prentice and some dame from Endicott.  I had a good time.  The supper was delicious, but very simple.  The main dish was nice fresh hot biscuits, and real maple syrup.

I was sorry to miss the clambake last night, and so was my dad, but as I explained to your father, my dad already made reservations at the Temple, and had asked Aunt Sadie to go along too.  I called your mother on the phone yesterday to tell her about your receiving Grandma Klock’s letter and she told me that she was going to the clambake herself.  She said that she did not want to go, but that she had to act as chauffeur.  And she said that Dorothy was going because Don was, and Dot didn’t want to have to bother to get dinner for just herself.  I don’t know where Bobby was.

And last night there was an operetta that the a capella choir gave under Ray Hartley’s direction, and Kathleen Hill called me up in the afternoon, and said she had an extra ticket, and asked me if I would like to go with her.  I was sorry to have to refuse.  Isn’t it funny how things happen?  For a week or two there won’t be a thing going on, and then last night there were three things that I wanted to go to --- the supper at Masonic Temple, the Cream Dove clambake, and the operetta.  But really, dearest, I don’t get much out of going anywhere without you.  It isn’t the same, and I just don’t enjoy myself as I do when you are with me.

You remember Dick Stowell, Ruth Campbell’s husband?  He is trying to get in Officer’s Training School somewhere.  He should be able to, because he is a collage graduate, and I guess that he is successful in business.  He is in Hill’s Bakery, you remember.

We had a practice blackout last night.  We have them about once a month.

I tried to phone Dolores and get Joe’s address, but no one answered the phone.  She must go out evenings.  Two or three times lately I have tried to get her to ask her about Joe’s address, and she never is there to answer the phone.  I hate to call her at the office, but I guess I’ll have to.

I called Harry Cole this morning, and he and I are going over to our house some evening, and see what is to be done.  If his estimate of the cost is too high, I will have Mr. Begasse or someone else figure on it too.  But I understand that Mr. BeGasse is better on outside work, while Mr. Cole is better on inside work.  Mrs. Crane wants the work done at the end of this month if possible, and Mr. Cole thought that he could do it then, if I decide to have him do it.  And Mr. BeGasse is always so busy, and will promise something for a certain time, and then won’t be able to keep the date.  Well, I’ll let you know how I make out, and what I decide.

I just went downstairs, and found the article about not voting overseas.

I hope you are will, my darling.  We are all well, and I guess your family is too.  At least, when I spoke to Mother Cook yesterday they were all the same as ever.

I miss you dear, and am so lonesome for you.  It would surely be wonderful if we could be together.  Maybe you will be returning home to me very soon, safe and well.  We can hope so, anyway, and remember that each passing day brings us that much nearer to the time when we will be back together again.  And that time can’t come any too soon for me.

I will close now, and as it not quite nine o’clock yet, guess I’ll go over to the Post Office tonight.

All my love to the most wonderful husband in the whole world, and lots of kisses.  I’ll be glad when I can deliver them to you myself, and not be forced to send them by mail.  I think of you always, and imagine what you are doing at various times.  It is terrible to be parted, but I try to look forward to the happy and pleasant time we will have together after you return.  But I miss you, sweetheart, and long for you.  Take care of yourself.  I love you, my own darling.

                                    Most affectionately,

                                                Your loving and devoted wife,

                                                            Jeanette.

P.S.- Guess I won’t go the Post Office after all.  It has started to rain hard.