Trumbull, Conn., August 30, 1942
This week I have the privilege of addressing a letter to you alone (carbon copies as usual to brothers two) in acknowledgment of the only mail coming to us last week – – and what a letter it proved to be. Some who read it wondered if softening of the brain had set in, others surmised it must be Rusty’s influence that was taking effect and some even went so far as to hazard the belief that you had imbibed too freely of vodka. Me? I just sat back and let them rave, reveling in the fact that at last the ice jam had broken and a raging flood was sweeping all irresistibly before it, including the welcome promise, tucked in between bits in the swiftly flowing stream, that letters from you would once again arrive with more frequency. There is one thing I missed and that was another chapter in your thrilling rescue mission, perhaps with maps and photos, to complete the scrapbook which I have started to encompass the complete Saga of the North. (To Lad and Dan: I won’t go into a description here of Ced’s letter as Dan was home this weekend and read it himself and I expect Lad will probably be home next week to do likewise).
Dan breezed in about 2 A.M. Saturday morning, much to our surprise, as we had not expected him until sometime after noon Sat.. He is now stationed at Lancaster, Pa., so much nearer home that he has prospects of seeing us much more frequently than before – – may even be able to make it next week again, and if Lad is able to do the same, we will have quite a reunion, except for my much missed old Alaskan boy that has so large a place in his Dad’s heart. Nothing would be quite so good as to see him walk into the room here right now, as Rusty did so many years ago when your mother and I sat here in front of the fireplace and later tried to poison ourselves with leaky gas fumes from the furnace.
Lad, when home last week, sported some corporal stripes on his shirtsleeve, and I don’t believe it will be very long before he mounts another step on the ladder.
There is very little in the way of news to report this week. We had a practice blackout in Trumbull the other day – – supposed to be a surprise in that no one knew exactly when it was to happen. There were “bombings” in each section of town, one casualty and a score of wounded, a fire caused by a dropped incendiary bomb, etc., all in the way of practice to get ready for the time when something of the sort might visit us.
Carl was over the other night with some wild idea of buying the old Waverley, getting batteries for it and fixing it up to run. I told him I would have to take the matter up with all you part owners before I could fix a selling price. Have heard nothing further as to how the Ives are making out at the Mayo clinic. Someone is staying at their house taking care of the dogs, etc. There has been just a suggestion of autumn in the air the last few days. So far I have been sneezing only moderately but there seems to be plenty of ragweed around to remind me that there is such a thing as hay fever. We had dinner early today so that Dan and Barbara, Dick and Jean could go to New York this afternoon in Dick’s car, from where Dan will leave to return to camp.
Glad the watch and tennis balls arrived safely. Let me know what you would like to have me send you for Christmas, so that I can get it off to you early in case they shut down on civilian deliveries.
Tomorrow, another letter from Lad, then another from Grandpa and on Friday, still another from Lad.
On Saturday and Sunday, I’ll continue to post early memories of Trumbull.