No letters were written by either party on this day 70 years ago, but I wanted to tell a little story about a brief conversation I had last week with my mother.

She was visiting us over Christmas, and had logged on to this blog early in the morning, eager to read Dart’s letter of that day. She made the comment that she was dreading this period when he was about to go off to war because she remembers how hard it was to go weeks without hearing from him. She wasn’t looking forward to reliving those days through long gaps in the blog.

I assured her that there would be no long gaps. I will continue to post letters on the day they were written – not when they were received. Since both our young correspondents were quite faithful in writing to each other often, the gaps will be only a few days, at most.

During the month of January 1945, Dot wrote on 13 days and Dart on 10. He was, of course, at sea during most of that time and she was keeping her usual busy schedule. The censors on Dart’s ships had something to say about how many letters each man on board could write. (Imagine having to read letters penned by hundreds of men every day, excising from each one any detail that might put the ship in danger.) For Dot’s part, it must have been challenging to come up with new things to write about when she had nothing new from Dart to respond to. Still, I think they did a fabulous job keeping things going during this difficult time.

I love to imagine those glorious days when each of them received a large bundle of letters from their beloved. Did they thrill to the sight of the cherished handwriting on the envelopes? Did they sniff a letter or two in an attempt to discern any trace of their loved one’s scent or surroundings? Did they rip them open randomly and hungrily devour the words on the pages, or did they sort them chronologically by postmarks, steal away to a private corner with a favorite beverage, and savor each one like a soothing opiate?

Whatever their method, I can only assume that each surge of mail brought a flood of joy and relief as well as a fresh bout of longing and loneliness. In our age of instant communication, could we weather sustained periods of zero contact with a loved one whom we knew was very likely in harm’s way? How miraculous that we never need to.