May 30, 1943
Dear Grandmother and Gramps,
Today is Memorial Day for all of us American boys over here in "jolly old England!" It's a Sunday, and we aren't flying today, so here I am taking advantage of the time to write this way-overdue letter to you two. And it's a beautiful Spring day here, so I've got my too-pale body stretched out here in the sun. I sure miss those hot Kansas days on your ranch, helping you with the chores, Gramps, and drinking your wonderful lemonade, Grandmother.
Thanks for sending me your last U.S. Marshal badge, Gramps, that I know you treasured after so many years wearing it. I wear it on every mission, just like our tail gunner Jimmy Breton wears the silver four-leaf clover on a chain that his kid sister sent. Of course, as soon as our sharp-eyed pilot, Lieutenant Grayson, spotted the badge, he asked about it and you, and now I'm called "Marshal!" Ha. Ha. I was getting mighty tired of the old "Red" that I've been called by everyone everywhere since I was a very young kid! I used to hate having curly red hair, but now I'm so proud and glad to look like a mix of you two.
Your blue eyes-like-an-eagle, Gramps, sure have been a blessing to me as a side gunner on our B-17, and I've already bagged four enemy planes. Don't mean to brag, and I hate to think of the young men in those planes, but as you always taught me, sometimes a man has to do terrible things to protect those he loves. I felt so privileged to sit with you listening to you quietly tell me things you said you never told anyone but Grandmother before. It was so hard for me to imagine you as the feared lawman who had shot and been shot so many times.
Every mission, when we are rumbling down the runway to take off and join the hundreds of other ships in formation, I feel a deep fear in my gut. But once we are airborne and occupied with all of our tasks, there is no time for fear. Grandmother, Gramps, I don't want to die. I have so much I want to come home to do and see. I'm only eighteen, and so full of the love of life! Try not to worry too much. I know you are always thinking and praying about me. I hesitated to tell you these thoughts, but as always, I tell you two everything. Even more so than Mother and Dad. I think it would be too much for them. Gramps, when the flack and bullets start up, I always tell myself what you once told me: "A man makes his dying by the way he lives." I believe I have lived a good life, wanting to be like you more than anyone else.
Enough on that. Let me tell you now about our ship, our B-17 Flying Fortress! "The Beautiful Belle" is a swell ship, Gramps, and has a terrific painting of a really pretty lady on the nose, Grandmother. Lieutenant Grayson's wife, Belle. And all of the guys in our crew are first rate! I'll send you some photos soon.
And Grandmother, I think of you often, and how you used to tell me bedtime stories about old Dodge City, and would stay until I fell asleep if it was stormy. I still don't like storms, but have gotten used to the incessant rain over here. The mud makes me think of what it must have been like when you first got off the stage in Dodge so long ago, and then met Gramps.
Well, I suppose that's all I have to say for now. The guys and I are bicycling into the countryside soon for a picnic with a few of the sweet young local girls.
I promise to write again soon.
Lots of love,
Matty
P.S. The enclosed medal is one I got for my marksmanship in the sky. I figured I'd give it to you Gramps, in exchange for your precious silver badge.