Love letters from the Front

My dearest Evelyn,

I write to you from my new post as ambassador to Russia. Or to the Soviet Union as it is now called by the communists like Harry Hopkins and that bumpkin Wallace. The President has sent me to try to talk some sense into Stalin but I don’t see how that is possible.

It seems that Stalin has decided to throw in his hat with this Hitler fellow. Why I don’t know. He must know that the Nazi’s are the deadly enemies of the communists. But still he persists in his folly. I cannot even get a meeting with him. The diplomatic niceties prevent it.

How I wish I was on the bridge of one of our dreadnoughts once again. I would blow a hole through convention with a 12 inch gun and find a way to get through to them.

I hope that all is well with you. I cannot tell you how much I miss you and long for you to come with me. The communists are not much for balls and parties even though they have many beautiful palaces from the time of the Czar.  I know you would enjoy the art and architecture of this ancient land. I cannot wait until we are united my love.

I had a strange visit from a young American. A Fredrick Trumpf from New York City. He seems to want to do some business with the Russian government and wanted my help. A strange young man. He smelled of urine and cheap perfume and a few feathers stuck to his clothing. But he is a member of our brotherhood and is vouched for by Justice Black. So I introduced him to Molotov. His wife is a Jew and I think this Trumpf is as well and you know how they stick together. Perhaps it will help him.

Please write to me. President Roosevelt assures me that I can return home soon. I cannot wait until I am in your arms again.

With all my love,

Bill