Uncle Ralph and I don’t do much writing to one another, it seems. We’ve exchanged perhaps four letters all his year. He has so little to say, as a rule, and it’s difficult for me to write to him. Except for the Army, we have practically nothing in common. We don’t even have that in common, really, for I’m in the Air Corps, where things are different. I don’t believe he’d like to hear how easy we have things here in Ireland. So I answer each of his letters and let it go at that.
Would surely like to see my big, fat Twinkle. Only now am I getting over the news of the untimely passing away of Twinkle Junior.
I enjoyed Mom and Dad’s letter about my Aunt Lizzie and her troubles, what with the election and rationing and shortages of trucks, washing machines, refrigerators, etc. That’s just too damn bad! I wouldn’t mind giving her my views on the subject. It’s too bad when people don’t realize when they’re well off. If I have the misfortune to run into some of those farmer relatives of mine when I get back home, I just hope they start crying to me about what they’ve gone through during these war years. I’m not as squeamish as I used to be when it comes to telling someone what I think. Especially farmers! With my Uncle Reuben backing me up, I can’t lose. I don’t mean to imply that I’ve gone through anything in the war; but I have done the job they gave me to do.
I am surprised that Cleon leaves his camp to go to town so often. I always preferred to stay right at the base. During the four months I was in the states, I went to town on pass only four times: Twice to Augusta, Georgia, once to Walterboro, S.C., and the trip to New York. A homebody, what? I’ve done a little better over here.
When Mom and Dad wrote on the 14th, they were all worked up about my change of address, just as I knew they would be. It wasn’t’ entirely their fault this time; the letter in which I explained everything must have been delayed. It would be! My transfer will have no effect on the mail. I haven’t so much as moved from the bunk I occupied while in Hq & Hq Sq. (I’m going to have to tell Mom and Dad that the blue pencil they have been using to address my packages is not very good. It rubs off. Some of the addresses are so dim by the time the box gets here that I don’t know who it’s from, and it takes a good light to make out my name. You can’t beat ink).
Well, I’m going to cut this short. I plan to tell you some more about my furlough in this coming Sunday’s post.
[letterstohome copyright 2008]