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Edited by Elaine Pinkerton
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Hardcover - 352 pages
Texas Tech University Press: ISBN: 0896724689

The saga of China, Burma, India -- World War II's forgotten theater -- is herioc, but seldom told. CBI ground troops were charged with the Herculean task of carving a road from India to China, and the treacherous flight pattern over the Himalayas, crucial to supplying the Allied effort, was a virtual suicide mission. Pilots who "flew the Hump" braved violent monsoon rains and deadly wind shifts.

Richard Beard, an Army psychologist assigned to the 142nd General Hospital in Calcutta, dealt daily with emotional trauma. While American and British soldiers hacked their way through dense tropical forests to build a supply route, Beard immersed himself in the internal jungles of those he cared for. A pillar to the men he served, Beard was an astute listener and observer, pleased to be playing his part. But his own pillar was his wife, Reva, half a world away in Findlay, Ohio. In daily letters to Reva, he poured out not only his own longing but also the unfolding drama of war in painfully exquisite detail tempered with tenderness and humor.

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT
FROM CALCUTTA WITH LOVE

"(These) letters illustrate love, loss and war...Richard chafed against what seemed to him senseless military decisions and inefficiencies. He vented his anger in letters to Reva. She attempts to keep up his morale with sketches of life at home as a teacher coping with shortages and relatives. We come to care for them both, share their frustrations and loss of independence...It's a labor of love bringing these letters back to life."

"The Beards wrote some truly fine old-fashioned love letters, the kind that put Hallmark greeting cards to shame."

"Pinkerton...organized a collection of tenderly written letters that her parents exchanged during the war. Pinkerton's dad...describes life in India and his interests and longings to his wife, who is back home teaching school in small-town Findlay, Ohio."

"Easily, From Calcutta with Love is one of the most memorable books to come out of the World War II experience."

"In their letters, every time Richard and Reva mention a possible adoption, I wanted to shout, 'NO, wait for Elaine!' The war years, their great love were inspiring to read about, but I liked even more getting to know about your childhood."

Letters from Richard

DICK TO REVA ("Ritter")
JULY-AUGUST 1944 Leaving for India

At Sea
Dearest Ritter:
     Kenny Bayless and I hung over the rail this morning talking about home and our experiences while watching the soap suds boil past the ship. Just to our left, and off the middle section of the ship, the incoming swell met the rush of the wave raised by the prow, and the sun made iridescent a shaft of rainbow. (I just read that last sentence to Kenny and he half raised, shook a hand in the air, and shouted in a strained French accent, “Magnifique! Splendide! Viva La France!”)
     Kenny is a graduate of Buchnell and had planned to teach, but was drafted before he had a chance to get started in the profession. I told him about him about our proposed house and how after the war, no one could pry me away from HOME. I have had more travel than I ever contemplated and henceforth I intend to leave it to restless souls.
     Last night’s poker proved again that I hold poorer cards than anyone else, that is consistently poorer, in the game. I lost $7.00 after a hard struggle. It irks me so darn much, though, to hit like wildfire for one night and then fight desperately for a week of losing before I can ever hope to win. Too, I think I have my fill of poker, but there isn’t anything else to do.

Ah, my darling, for the love of you -- good night,
Dick

At Sea
Dearest:
     There is no lack of life about me. At my feet is a blackjack game. Several fellows are chatting just below me to the left. Down the aisle a few feet, Si Bland is leading an impromptu blank-face act with a dozen clowns. Bayless and Berengarten are trying to read. In the meantime, fellows try to get through the crowded aisles. Fun!
     I am still in splendid health -- the the products of my trip thus far are coming along famously. I refer to my mustache and beard -- both of which you would love to see. The mustache is heavy and very black. The beard is iron gray and all my enemies insist that my ruddy features are rapidly becoming very dashing indeed. Distinguished, I think the word is!
     I am worried, dearest, for I did not give you sufficient warning of the time that would elapse between my leaving the U.S. and when you next hear from me. I only hope that your faith and trust remains strong and clear -- For I am sure that all will turn out well.
For this moment,

All my love,
& all moments,
Dick

At Sea
Dearest:
     May I write a little love note, my sweet? In my lexicon, one word stands out above all other: LONGING -- for you.
     Day after day, week after week that longing grows -- and it will continue to grow, my dear, throughout the months to come.
     Our years together now take on added significance since I must live in memory. Especially am I fond of recalling our Saturday morning breakfasts. Then, do you remember how many rides we have had together? The intimacy of those experiences is even more poignant now that I am traveling alone and here are so many restrictions on what I can tell you.
     Do you recollect the two or three days at 2109 when snow and ice storms confined us to the house and there was no school? Returning to bed, listening to the radio, lunch, warmth, and quiet reading in that over-crowded library of mine? (and yours.)
     And our evening cribbage and poker? It was fun, honey, and I want it to happen again soon -- very soon.
All my love,
Darling,
All my love,
Dick

At Sea
Dearest Ritter:
     I am constantly wondering how you are ever going to make any sense out of these letters, for they are marked in no way (not allowed) and I question whether I could sort them chronologically myself. If you have any leisure, It might please you to try it, though.
     This is going to be something of a gripe letter. You recall how nicely you used to serve as a release for me? Do you mind?
     Take the case of Silas Bland. Since I have known him he has always been in debt to me. Now he drapes his lazy whiskered self on his bunk all day long and expects me, as a buyer, to get him toothpaste, candy, ink etc. and pay for them myself -- hoping that he will make good. He has a partial pay coming today, so on the strength of that he borrowed $5.00 and lost it all in poker last night. Now he is broke again. As a human specimen I have never met a more personable, spoiled hypocrite in my life.
     Our poker (and I have been playing very poorly recently) has degenerated socially. Herion cries all the time, whether he wins or not. At poker, he is the most disagreeable man I have ever met. Cleveland is truculent most of the time. Old bald-headed Watts (the lawyer) and I have struck up a strange friendship. I think he is impressed by my lack of screaming and throwing of cards when I lose. Rex Lauck proved unusually merciless last night. Sgt. Bob Comfort is a nice kid who is called the “Kid” because he is so youthful. Si Bland dramatized every hand he lost with gestures and facial grimaces worthy of The Passion Play.
     Last night the waves dashed against the side of the hull and the ship pitched and tossed briskly. We had creamed chicken for dinner. I smoked heavily during the poker game and resultant ship rocking almost upset my stomach. I tossed until 4: p.m. then drifted of into a troubled sleep. Incidentally, you usually figure in my dreams quite prominently. That shows how well my subconscious is at work.
     This letter is perhaps more confusing than usual. I have been interrupted at least 20 times, including time out for our second meal. Our candy is rationed now, four cartons to a buyer and today 64 men tried to buy 96 bars at 3 for 10 cents from me. Some fun!

So, darling, may I say a tender good night,
Love, Dick

At Sea
Dearest:
Si, Kenny, and Sgt. Blackie (Blackburn) are humming tunes for one another and then to recognize -- Such an unhappy situation -- everybody scoffing at them.
     Soon we will break up here and to down to the “head” for poker. As I may have written, I didn’t play last night, but read instead.
     The game broke up early with Si and Herion fighting one another. Never a dull moment -- hot stuff.
     Al wants me to tell you that he is taking good care of me. Today he brought me a good cheese sandwich. A young sgt. named Boss brought me a bologna-rye. As for me today, Honey, I got up for breakfast, read awhile, then slept till noon. Then refused to move from the bunks until 4:00 mess call.
     I wonder how badly this kind of tripe bores you? I’m betting on it’s at least providing you with a concrete bit of evidence of a futile effort on my part to send a part of hum-drum me to you.
     There is nothing magnificent in modern war from the standpoint of the soldier. Since February 27 I have done exactly nothing to help win the war. I have not ever been permitted to work at my army specialty. My 19 years of educational preparation has been nullified by the Draft Board. I have been in a state of suspended animation. My companions are similarly caught. It is no wonder that our existence is on a low level-- physically and mentally.
     Humph!
     But dearest, when thinking of you, all things become right again, as Shakespeare said first, and Browning confirmed.

Good night darling,
Dick

At Sea
My Darling:
Perhaps the happiest hour of the day -- of course it is the happiest hour -- is that which I spend with you -- as I scrawl words and lines across the white paper in the dim light of the hold.
     Almost a month it has been now -- and there is more to go. How I h ope against hope that you are recalling stories of how long it takes convoys to make the trip you must guess we are making. How you must watch the postman’s retreating footsteps each day -- Gnawing doubt and an endless fear charging you a forfeit of peace of mind and comfort.
     We are in a storm area and the huge gray steel ship lunges, twists, totters, pauses, grinds over rocky precipices of water, shakes herself and carries on. This contrary movement leaves many of us half sick, and I am included in the group.
     However, there are some remarkable things to be seen in the world, and maybe you and I would enjoy it more if we were together -- and traveling first class.
So much love to you,
Sweetest,
Dick

At Sea
Dearest Wife:
     This is written in commemoration of our 7th wedding anniversary, Reva, and will inadequately express my sincere happiness and good fortune in being married to you. I should prefer to look into your eyes for a moment and then kiss you to express those feelings; since that is impossible, will you accept this letter?
     I was too moved to write on July 3rd, instead I sat for hours watching the waves slip past the stern of our ship. I ran over our wonderful experiences: I thought of our hard times and the troubles we have encountered; and then I reflected upon the almost perfect peace and comfort which is ours when we are together. How our eyes light, and how solicitous we are of one another’s welfare.
     It is necessary, darling Reva, to refer to last summer and our second honeymoon. Perhaps six years of living with you had to fade into history before my love matured sufficiently to leave no vestige of doubt. You are my fate, dear, and I am content.
     This war is but a passing shadow, Reva, in our lives. If it should prove more, and I am not to see you again, then if there is any eternity, forever you are engraved on my soul’s substance. But optimistically, I plan for the future, and I want you to do likewise. I hope that you will have a baby boy or girl waiting for me when I come home. If not then, together we shall secure the blessing of children in a family.
     I love you, my girl wife, and each passing day confirms how engulfing my love is. Even now I look into your lovely face, and with blurred eyes, pledge to you again my everlasting devotion.

Your husband,
Dick

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