Seven-Thirty P.M.

December 19, 1942.

(Somewhere at Sea)

Africa Bound

I

Dear Mother, Dad, Grandmother, “Ruthie” and FAMILY,

I sit me down in the officer’s mess hall and commence this brief narrative of my experiences, since last you heard from me, knowing how worried and anxious you are as to my whereabouts. I do not know whether this letter will ever reach you, but am hoping that some blessed providence will wing it safely to it’s destination. I am entrusting it to a sailor, who will make the return voyage on this ship; a sailor whom I hope I am recompensing sufficiently so that he will safeguard the letter and do his best to mail it for me when and if he returns to New York.  I have been playing pinochle with him on the voyage and, although, not positive, think that he will do his best to get it in the mail.  I don’t know whether the ship is going to carry censored mail back or not, but I prefer to risk it the way I am, as, in a censored letter, I would be unable to say a great deal, although what I will write, will have nothing of military value in it.

I have no definite idea where to begin, and, as I shift from position to position as more officers come into the wardroom, I hang onto my comfortable chair grimly, as it is the first one I have sat on since boarding the boat.  There are officers standing around me, but I ignore them, as I have permission from the chief steward to write a few letters here tonight, and I am hoping also tomorrow night, and the night after that to be also able to use the

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