Dear Folks,

It was nice to hear that Nance got up for the funeral. Too bad she couldn’t have stayed for Thanksgiving. I’m still hoping to be stationed awhile in the East not further south than Norfolk (preferably at “Fort Devens Airport”) some time myself, and since one is sometimes given one’s preference upon returning to the States, such is not beyond the bounds of possibility. I should warn you, however, that two tours of overseas duty are the usual thing for a naval aviator before he is given more or less permanent duty at “home.” My Dayton deal was of course exceptional and considered to be “temporary.” After this present “tour” a “pool” and then attachment to a squadron forming somewhere north of Norfolk would not be unlikely unless the East Coast is over-applied for and I’m sent back to the West Coast. In any case 30 days leave has been the custom lately immediately before this, and I’m gunning for next summer.

I’ve been in fine shape ever since leaving the States by the way, and even the voyage didn’t bother me much, though we did much more pitching than rolling, which bothers me more. Very likely a storm blowing across our course would still make me miserable. We’ll see.

Speaking of censorship rules, remember that they are as a rule far stricter for a unit temporarily based somewhere than for one “permanently” assigned to the same place.

We are still fortunate enough to get a day off at regular intervals, as on the Coast, the routine being in fact much the same.

A little while ago some of us took a scenic train ride, the train consisting of two White trucks, or rather buses, vintage of 1925, one pulling and one pushing a similar, but engineless car, all, however, on what seemed to be regular-sized rails. We passed fields of sugar cane and sometimes over gorges, as often as not containing a waterfall or two. Another time we went on a bus ride, and while the others continued on a special tour I had been on before, I went looking for birds and with considerable success, the most interesting being one marked much like a scarlet tanager, but with a sickle-shaped bill and a voice capable of weirder sounds. This was in a very pretty bit of forest containing many kinds of trees, some of considerable size.

I’ve been feeble about reading lately (except about fauna, flora, etc.), having for one thing taken in more movies, the latest, Home in Indiana, having been especially enjoyable.

Love to All,

Toots

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