Something makes me long for Melbourne again, and the nights our company spent in the MCG. It all felt like a dream. When I think back, I sometimes don't even think that that period in time was even real. Where I try to remember your face, it fades away inside my head day by day. Perhaps if you send that photograph it'll help me keep you fresh in my mind, as you should be.
I hope I will see you soon,
Bill
She hadn't known whether it was intentionally short and sweet or whether he lacked the energy to write anything more. However, Bill actually sitting down and writing her a letter at all was a surprise in itself, and for that, she was very thankful. She smelled the parchment, she hugged it to her chest, she even wept a little. The thought of him wasting away out on the Solomon Islands did nothing if not break her heart.
I wonder whether he misses my voice, she thought to herself as she ran her fingers over his scrawling penmanship, if only I could just speak to him, over the telephone or face to face. She wondered whether he'd come back to her, or what they'd do when the war was over. Would they get married? Would they have children? Or would he scamper back off to Louisiana, never to be seen again?
She imagined children with beautiful golden blonde hair and eyes the colour of the sea, with round button noses and big eyes. Maybe he'd want to name them after some of the mates he served with. What were they called? Bob, Sid, Wilbur and Lew. She liked the name Wilbur, but perhaps not for a baby. Lewis was sweet. Which names would she choose? Would she name her daughters after her mother and her grandmother? Or would she go on a whim and name her Doris after one of those Darling Doris pinups they paint on planes?
She smiled tenderly to herself, and reread the letter again. It would take her days to formulate the perfect reply, and numerous drafts would end up in the waste paper bin in her father's study. He didn't notice she was stealing the special parchment paper that he used for his police write-ups.
Ginny pondered over something new to send Hoosier; as much as he claimed he appreciated the Lucky Strikes, there was something more sentimental lingering in the back of her mind. He'd mentioned in his letter how jealous he was of Bob Leckie's Japanese pistol. After sleeping on it, she came to the realisation that father had a pistol he'd never used — a fiftieth birthday present from the police department. It had sat untouched in a cardboard box the bottom draw of his desk for years, under an ARP instruction slip, so it wasn't exactly hard to find. The gunmetal was smooth and cold beneath her pale fingers and the trigger felt deadly. It wasn't Japanese like Leckie's, but it was precious all the same.
Once it was shipped away in that cardboard box, Ginny felt guilty, but not as much as she did giddy. She hoped her father would never figure out it was missing, and if they did, that they'd never realise it was their very own daughter who'd taken it.
Bill,
I'm not going to write you any fluffy nonsense, I know you don't care for that. I doubt you will have enough free time to read a double-sided letter from the likes of yours truly, so I promise I will keep things short and sweet.
Things have been painfully normal here in Melbourne since your departure. A different batch of Marines have been billeted at the MCG and now run rampant around our streets just as you did after your arrival. Though the few I have had the chance of meeting have been ever so kind, they cannot hold a candle to the joy and happiness yourself and your company brought me.
For the past month or so I have been working as a secretary for Captain Robert Dawes. He's a pilot for a local Air Force Company where they do test runs for the Boeing B-29s. I spend a lot of time filing, proof-reading write-ups and making the captain coffee. It's a fairly average job for girls around here my age but it pays better than the switchboards did. Besides, we never had company-organised dances there, and here, with the Air Force, we have them every other weekend. Some of the girls in my unit even let me go to their houses and we help one another get ready.
I have attached a photograph of myself outside the barracks at the base. Polly took it for me a couple of weeks ago when we were waiting for the Captain Dawes to finish his test run. In exchange, I have sent you my father's pistol. You mentioned how much you envied Leckie and his Japanese chest, and although I am sure it is in no way the same as whatever loot your comrades have stumbled upon, you can flaunt this to them. It is a pistol from our local South Victoria Police Station. It's technically engraved to my father, but I would like you to have it instead.
The funny thing is, all these little distractions like going to dances and working with the AWAS odo not stop me missing you so. I pray for your safety as often as I can, and every moment I have spare is spent hoping that you are somehow okay. It fills me with dread to imagine what you could possibly be going through out there, and that there is nothing I will ever be able to do that would help me fully understand the true extent of this terrible war.
Promise me you will out of harm's way and keep safe whilst you are out there. I want you back in one piece.
Yours,
Ginny
She never knew if it got to him, or what he did with it if it did. She hoped he was thinking of her nevertheless, as her brain was scarcely filled with anything other than thoughts of him.
Chapter Thirteen: SAMUEL GLOYNE'S REVOLVER
Start from the beginning
