But then again I wouldn’t give it up for the world, and as rushed as it was, I am so glad that I have the memory of it to sustain me while you are away. Today I am back at work—of course—and so I can’t write for long. Soon I must dress and brush my hair and look respectable. Everyone will look at me differently now that I am married. What do the others in your platoon say to you? Tell your CO thank you for me—for letting us be together—and I promise to be the best sort of wife. Don’t forget me now that you are on board a ship with the sea glittering like jewels around you. (Do they even let you out to look at the ocean?) Do stay safe.

Love,

Your Sarah

Dear Sarah,

We’re on our way and I don’t know when you’ll get this or when I’ll get your letters, but I promised I’d write. I can’t think of anything but you, baby, and I wish I had another week in that hotel with you to show you how much you mean to me. Compared to you, everything is dull aboard—there’s just poker, mess duty and giving the sailors a hard time until we hit shore. One guy in the next cabin over has filled a 32-gallon garbage can with mash and says it makes about a quart of alcohol a week. Everyone wants to be his friend, and I have to admit a little moonshine would help pass the time.

Last ship I was on, coming to Sydney, I cut out all these pin-ups from the magazines and stuck them above my bunk—Jane Russell, Jean Harlow—they were swell-looking girls. But now I have someone even more beautiful staring at me as I go to sleep. The boys make fun of me when I kiss you goodnight, but they don’t know half of what I know. Please write me, write me as much as you can. Knowing I’ll get your letters eventually is all that makes this bearable. They’re calling us to the mess for scran (that’s food) so I’d better go. Tell your mother that I’d kill for one of her roasts instead of the tasteless excuse for dinner they feed us here.

Love and more,

Roy

Dear Roy,