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Personal Letter

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Pvt. Lorraine J. Turnbull MCWR

Bks 39 Marine Corps Aviation Detachment

Naval Air Tech. Trg. Center

Norman, Oklahoma

Miss Jean Turnbull

2929 W. Mc Kinley Blvd.



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Feb. 29

Dear Jeanne,

Thanks for the diary–as yet I haven’t even had the time to write in it. Guess I’ll begin March first tomorrow.

If you ever join one of the services for gosh sakes steer clear of mess duty if you can. It’s plain hell, but I’m not complaining—until I’ve been on about 60 days—and then Scuttle-butt has it we get releived [sic] tomorrow so here’s hoping.

Last night I had a date with Scotty, a[n] aerial photographer, Cpl. & tall, dark, handsome & 23. The date was for six o’clock & that’s just when I got back from the mess hall. I still had on my whites so we sat on the steps and talked. I had to be at a barracks meeting from 7 ‘til 8 & he had to go to work so we’re going out tonight. After 8 o’clock a bunch of us girls went to see Destination Tokyo, a submarine story.

Saturday night I saw Gung Ho—the story of Lt. Col Carlsons 2nd Marine division raiders and their Makin Island raid. I wonder which division Fuzzy was in? Do you have his address?

How’s Bugs getting along? Did you know Doomie was going over-seas soon? If I ever do get to California it will be too late to see him. Butch A & Ted are both Sgts. now. I got a V-mail from Milo the other day. How is work? Don’t forget those pictures from Ellen so we can get some prints made from them.

I’m writing this at the mess hall—the 3rd air wing band is playing. We have an odd spare minute so I’m listening & writing—on my knee. The band plays every Tues. during noon chow. We try to enjoy it, but with a mess Sgt. like we’ve got it’s almost an impossibility. It has been raining an awfully lot here lately. One minute the sun is out & the next it’s pouring.

I’ll have to knock off now, Jean—write soon. So you’ve been complaining about not hearing from me, hey? I write about six letters a week—mostly home & one to Ward, Ned & Doomie. I’ve got to start writing more, but I just let it go & “crap out” in the lounge when we’re off duty. Crap out is an expression in the M. C. meaning to loaf or lie around.

Gotta rush.

Loves ya,


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