Subtle, but sure, signs of Fall hunting -- What are yours?

[Garth Gustafson]

From a homesick GI in the South Pacific. It was discovered in Nash’s things after he died. It was a photocopy of microfilm V-Mail, the type sent by servicemen during World War II:

Lt. Col. R.W. Cole Jr.
8th Cav APO 201 c/oPM
San Francisco
September 4, 1944

My dear Mr. Buckingham:

This being September, although here in the Admiralty Group one would never suspect such to be the case, my thoughts have been turning more and more towards home and the gunning days. My home is in Little Compton, a small fishing-farming community on the eastern shore of the Sakonnet River. In such a location along the Rhode Island coast, the black ducks are in evidence the season round and the thought of throwing my decoys on home waters once more makes the months overseas even longer. I know you have shot over the same country of salt marshes and pot holes, of sand dunes and rocky spits over which the long files of coot pass at dawn and dusk, so I feel your understanding far better than most. To those of us who love the out-of-doors, homecoming means infinitely more than for those luckless individuals whose lives are not in tune with the whisper of wings at sundown.

Have you ever thought of how your books have brought pleasure to us out here? I made a short cruise on a combat mission with the Navy and during lulls in the bombardment and the continuous state of “precautionary general quarters”, I found time to read “The Shootinest Gent’man” for the fourth time. Even the thrill of being at sea on grim and important business was forgotten. This time, I believe I enjoyed “Play House”- “no more Eddinses fo’ the wars!”- even more than usual, as it struck a sympathetic note. Thank you for speeding the hours.

The Cavalry Division will be hard at it again in the near future and when you read of its exploits, think of it in a more personal sense than might otherwise be the case as I, in my capacity of Executive Officer of one of its fine old regiments, am a very small cog in its wheel.
Sincerely,
R.W. Cole Jr.