Goose Bay

June 21/1945

Dear Helene,

This scrawling script is being written on the wing of a plane. I’m lying on it in my shorts (the ones with just one button), getting a little sun. I’m unable to move because the remainder of the wing is very hot from the sun and burns my delicate skin. I always try to find a logical place to write where it will be too cramped to write clearly and distinctly, which I cannot do. Again, I have succeeded.

We had a very heated discussion in the mess last night on French Canadians and Jews. I’m afraid I was almost alone in their defence. One fellow even went as far as to fully agree with Hitler on the Jewish situation. I find it really horrible how despised and even hated they are by some fellows who have never actually come in contact with them. Neither have I, but I couldn’t form such an opinion, and I don’t believe they should. I recall reading a few years ago in the works of Voltaire (I think), “I know nothing of Jews or Christians, I recognise only men, and there again the only distinction I make is between the just and the unjust.” I liked that passage so well, I memorised it. We ourselves, and friends of both yours and mine, would do well to do more than memorise it.

How and why did I get on that subject with you? If you’re not already asleep, I’ll try to be more interesting. Writing to you is a very poor substitute, but it is at present the closest I can get to you. But when I get closer, and I do mean closer, you’d better keep your wits about you because it’ll be apparent that I won’t be able to. I write this after only being away for less than a week. Add then more weeks, and even in your wildest imagination, or mine, can you visualise so-called conscience and good sense in any way interfering with my passions? Consider yourself fully warned.

These sensations I have and am experiencing are entirely new to me. I find them at once terrifying and deeply pleasurable. In this, I imagine I’m no different from the vast majority of people who have all at once discovered that they have only recently begun to live. You must…

June 23 - I cannot recall what the rest of the sentence was…

Well, we added a few more hours to the required hundred, which brings me that much closer to you. I’m afraid I was a little eager in telling you to write to me. We’re on the jump quite a bit, and your letter might travel all over the country before I get it. We almost had a flip to Dartmouth yesterday, but it was cancelled for some reason. I hope to God it comes again. As far as flying goes your no good to me. The only course I can plot these days is one to Dartmouth. It’s most amazing to me that I feel the need for one particular person so much, especially when the person is a woman. I also find it astonishing that I can declare such statements openly in writing with no restraints. The “cautious kid” has ceased to be.

I think I’d better end this instalment for now. I’ll think of more endearing things to say to you while out in the blue, though poetry’s a little out of my line, as you’ve keenly observed.

Hello again - It’s three A.M. the 24th, so I can say “Good Morning”

There’s a Douglas Transport leaving for Dartmouth sometime today, so I’ll finish this now and send it on. I wish it was myself instead of a letter. I will not read over what I have written because I would no doubt tear it up as a lot of foolish blubbering and start over again. I don’t imagine you’ll be able to decipher it anyway. If you can, you’ll no doubt have a prepared list of misspelt words and improper grammar for me on my return. After I had started this letter on Thursday, I was offered more suitable writing paper but declined, being too lazy to start over again.

I will start another for you soon and continue it day by day until another flip comes up. I’d better sign off and try a little dreaming. My gambling so far has resulted in a $24.00 win and and $18.00 loss. Hardly worth the effort.

When I come back, we must go to Hazel Hill (Good Gawd!) for a weekend or something. Also, I’ll have to take you to a priest and get this business rolling. I believe the priest I have spoken to you about is the best bet. The priests who visit the Twomeys are too young and filled to the ears with learning from books and little from the world. The man who handles you will have to be on his toes, or you’ll be on his!

Until my next letter or possibly a visit, I remain with much love,

decidedly yours,

Wilf