In Port - S. Gilchrist, Aug 1944

Liverpool. Aug. 4th. 1944.

My Darling,

     At last the voyage is over, and we are safely back in Britain again. Already the ship is wearing that air of pathos peculiar to ships who have paid off one crew and not yet signed on another. Most of the officers and all of the men, have already gone on leave, but a few of us, including, of course, John O. and myself, are standing by. During the day it is absolute bedlam on board, with the cargo workers on deck, and the shore fitters in the ngine room, but at night it is very quiet. I am the only engineer on the ship at present, and it makes me feel quite important to have about thirty shore engineers hanging on my every word. This of course has its disadvantages, for it prevents me from getting ashore, but I dislike this place intensely anyway. In about a week, we shall be getting under way again, to go to another British port, a bit nearer my home this time and when we get things squared up there, I shall be leaving the ship for good. I expect to be home for a few months, for I shall have to go to the Marine College, to put in some grinding, prepatory to attempting my examination for my ticket. I'll get that ticket or damn well bust in the attempt.

     This is all just talk, trying to give you an idea of how things are with me at present, now I'll tell you the really important things. Tonight, or as its now about midnight I guess I should say last night, about 8-30, when things had quitened down, I went to the wireless room and started to phenagle about the short wave set, to see of I could pick up an American station. I was in luck, very definitely so, for in no time at all I was listening to a replay of a broadcast called "Waltz Time" with your old favorite Frank Munn, shouting his head off magnificent fashion. It reminded of that night when we practically wore the dance floor of the "Roosevelt" right down to the tarmac. He was singing a particularly lovely tune, which I have never heard before called "Long ago and far away" when John O. came back aboard, shouting his head off in his usual boorish way. I was all wrapped up in a terrific cloud of nostalgia thinking of my own not so long ago and not very far away, when he came up and turfed me out. It transpired that he had good reason for this aforementioned shouting, for he had a huge pile of letters under his arm. I gave a hand to sort them out, although most of our lads, being Londoners dashed home immediately they were paid off, as they were quite naturally all worried to hell about the flying bombs. But most magnificent of all, there were about a dozen letters for me, Five were from you, the latest one being decorated with what John O. described when I showed him them (from a safe distance) as goddam posies. So, for the last couple of hours I've been having a splendid time reading them. I can't understand why you havent been getting my letters, for I have written from every port several times, Air-letters, V-mails, the whole blasted works, in the hope that at least some of them would get through. I have had several letters from you during the trip so it seems to be a one way hold up.

     The rest of the letters were from my sister, and I'll be very glad to see the folks again. If you are writing to me within the next couple of months it would be a good idea to use my home adress, for I expect to be home that long anyway. Then Heigh-ho for New York City, by hook, crook, or political corruption I'll be seeing you, just try and stop me. For I love you, my darling.

Yours till then,

Gil