Gene, I wrote a poem

June 17, 1945

My Darling Sweetheart,

Today is Sunday. We had our LDS service this morning and it was really very good. There were seven of us. We held it in the chaplain's office. This afternoon I had a little nap, then a shower, so right now I feel pretty hep. It's that kind of feeling that if I were back there with you would make me want to take you and do something interesting or exciting.

What are you doing now? Did you go back to the same job? I hope you will still go on with your entertainments with your friends the same as you were. Don't take too seriously what I said in that one letter. If you do a lot of interesting things, it will help you to keep from getting blue and depressed.

Gene, I wrote a poem about the second day out. It was when I was feeling rather blue because of the way I had to leave you. I ran across it again today so I'm sending it to you. After reading over some of the things I write when I am in one of my deep, serious moods, I sometimes think they might sound rather silly--too passionate or something to someone else unless they were in the same mood I was when I wrote it. But since it's all about my thoughts of you, perhaps you'll appreciate it anyway regardless of its form.

I could write much better if I had some of the letters you've written since you returned to LA, but it shouldn't be long now. I look forward more to those little pink envelopes of yours than anything else, with the exception of seeing you in person. It's only because I love you so much, my sweetheart. When I can be with you forever, I don't believe I will want anything else, just like my other poem says.

Goodbye for now, my darling. I send you all my love. Yours, Perry

I Must Go Back

I must go back to the sea again

To the cold rolling waters so blue.

I must go back to the sea again

And my longing and thinking of you.

I must go back to living again

In memories now we're apart.

I must go back to suppressing again

Those foremost desires of my heart.

But waters can't part nor tides interfere

With the love for my sweetheart so true.

And time cannot shadow, nor distance bedim

The memory of moments I've lingered with you.

The thought of each moment while we were so near

Gives me joy that space cannot numb.

For to think of each moment with someone so dear

Creates hope for the days yet to come.

I must go back to the sea again

To the cold rolling waters so blue.

But time, nor foam, nor lands far from home

Can take my love away from you.

June 18, 1945 (Monday evening)

Dearest husband Perry,

My darling, I was unable to write you over this past weekend because of the chorus outing. Yes, I did decide to go after all. It was impossible for me to write you while out there, sweetheart, but I did think of you constantly and wished so that you could have been there to share the good times with me. The reason I did not want to go at first was cause you weren't here with me, but Mother insisted that I go with the gang.

Oh, Perry, it was a huge ranch owned by an LDS family named West--such a beautiful place. They had about a dozen saddle horses, a swimming pool, a volleyball court, a big, beautiful home with trees all around it and a large orchard full of trees laden with oranges and grapefruit. It was such a beautiful place, and we were there all day Saturday and Sunday having such fun. 

Sunday morning we all hiked up to the top of a hill overlooking the orange groves and sat under a shade tree. There we had our Sunday school services. Brother West gave such an interesting talk on his studies of the Indians of the American continents and of the cities and ruins and things that are being found which were of those peoples written of in the Book of Mormon.

I think there were at least about 30 of our chorus group came out on this weekend outing. Then Sunday night we went in to Baldwin Park and sang in their ward--in fact, we had the whole program. Friday night Margaret Copp and I stayed at Nellie's house. (We rode out to the ranch next day in Mark's car.) We got up early Saturday morning and got all ready and packed to go. Mark and Evan came just in time for breakfast--we had waffles. Mark has a big car but he promised to take so many kids that when we had gone around and picked everyone up (including his dog) there were about 10 of us. We surely were crowded, but we got there ok. It's about a half hour drive from LA.

I was pretty tired when we got home last night so slept quite late this morning. Perry, I didn't get a letter from you today. It's been more than a week now. Will I hear from you soon, darling? I hope I do. Your letters mean so much to me, Perry. I want to know what you are doing and what you are thinking, and what you think of me. I love you Perry. I know your folks are anxious to hear from you too and your grandmother. I have written your mother and father and told then how grand you looked and how happy we were for almost 6 days. They will want to hear from you now, darling. 

Please take care of yourself, my husband. I pray that you might come back soon and that the war might end soon because I want to take care of you, dear Perry. I want that little home. But most of all I want our children. I'm so lonesome for you and our children, Perry. Oh how long must we wait for this? Surely it will be our heaven on earth when we will be together and have our children and those wonderful blessings which the Lord has promised us.

Perry, do you understand my thoughts? I put them so poorly, but I know you do. I love you so. Always your own, Gene

June 18, 1945

Darling Gene,

Hello my dear sweet little wife. I'm sitting up here on the deck on the bridge writing to you. It is just 7:00 pm (our time) and is really quite cool and pleasant. Yes, if I could just have you here with me it would be a very beautiful evening. It's one of those cool evenings that would make me want to go for a bike ride if I were back there with you. Or maybe even a horseback ride, huh?

I'm feeling good because I think I'll have some mail from you tomorrow. I suppose you are getting awfully disappointed about not hearing from me. I often like to imagine what you are doing at different times of the day. If my calculations of time are correct, you are sleeping soundly (I hope dreaming about your husband.) Unless you are staying up rather late, which isn't impossible as I know you and your mother used to like to stay up late and talk and read and now with Emily there, it is rather probable.

Gene, your parents bought me a subscription to the Era but I have only received one copy. I thought at first it was because I was moving around so much that it never did catch up with me, but it seems I should have received some by now, so I wrote them to find out the reason. If they haven't been sending it to me at all, they will make it up I hope.

If I get a letter from you tomorrow, I will have a lot more to write about. I want to hear you tell me how you enjoyed yourself in San Francisco and if you arrived home safe and if you are well, etc. etc. I hope you enjoyed yourself only half as much as I did. It was so wonderful to be there with my wife, but it only made me long more and more for the time we can be together forever and can have even a few of those things we desire so earnestly.

Sweetheart, I do love you so much, I can hardly think of anything else all day. I can only think of you and of those things we will do when at last I can be with you to stay. I pray constantly for those things and know that each day brings us closer to realizing them.

Must go on watch soon so must leave you now. I love you, my darling. Yours, Perry