Saturday, March 13, 2021

Post #306 - February 26, 27, 1944 The Radio and Newspapers say London is Due for Another “Shellacking” and The Company Got a New C.O. Today, 1st Lt. Crane


February 26, 1944

Darling Hubby, 

I thought I’d enclose this clipping 'cause I almost didn't believe it—14 weeks! I am also enclosing a letter I received from Lee Nerenberg to give you an idea of how she writes. I can scarcely believe she is only 16. This is beginning to sound like a “believe it or not,” letter, and while I'm on the subject, sweet, I can't believe it's 7 months since I saw you. Is that good or bad? At least it shows the time is passing quickly, and that's good. 

Hooray! My dad quits the Parkway when March 10th. He has given them notice, so I guess it's final. He has been going to the new place two to three hours a day to learn the ropes. He told me he saw a nice stroller for Adele. I'm just waiting for him to get on the “inside” and then I hope to get the stroller wholesale. 

I thought the spring weather would last a while—no dice—it rained and rained and rained all day. I couldn't go out anyway. Adele is herself for the first time in weeks, although her appetite is still poor. She dropped considerable weight (I did, too) and Mom only insists she is too thin now. Can you beat that? In my opinion, she's just right—so there now. 

You know, baby, I'm beginning to feel more and more like an old lady or sumpin’. Ruth is going out on dates (yes, really) and introduced me to a few of her girlfriends and boyfriends. The fellows were very nice looking and one, in particular, sings on the radio. The girls are all pretty (Ruth included) and so grown up at 14 and 15. Now, do you know why I'm feel older! (I can hear you saying—“what should I say—29 on the 6th!) Today is Ed’s birthday and my mom was out of sorts—too busy remembering how it was 19 years ago. Seymour will be 18 on June 1st and I doubt if he'll stay out of the army for six weeks after he registers. They are planning to call up 4-F’s again—but—you know the Army. 

I suggested to Mom that she go to New York for a vacation when Harry and Goldie go home next Saturday, (Mar. 4) and I’ll board at my mother's. She hasn't a decent coat or a dressy dress to make the trip. I hope to go shopping with her and perhaps she'll go after all. She corresponded with Emma and Max (they were in Florida for vacation and returned last week) and they invited, in fact, pleaded, with her to come to New York in the near future. 

Phil, the radio and newspapers say London is due for another “shellacking” and if you have my feelings at heart you won't go to London for a while. I know it's a lot to ask, especially when you look forward to the trips and an opportunity to relax, but I’d feel lot happier if I knew you weren't there at the time it is bombed. You can’t and haven't convinced me that it is safe and my heart drops into my shoes whenever I think of you being present when there is a bombing. When I hear for myself on the radio that it is comparatively safe I'll be only too happy to see you go to London. Everyone keeps warning me to tell you this. I know you wouldn't go if you thought it unwise, but I'd feel so much better if you wait til we have them beaten down a lot before going. Please—

Feb. 27, 1944

I was so drowsy last night I went right off to bed. If you’re getting the news of what's happening here, you'll know that there was a big row in Congress—Barkley vs. Roosevelt. Congress overrode the president's veto on the new tax bill, which put a large tax on many things. For instance, air-mail will now be 8¢ per hour and 3¢ for local letters. There will be a tax on handbags and many other so-called luxury items. The Wymans and Chases took Mom to see “Thousands Cheer” and she is spending the evening there. Milt, Sylvia, Harry and Goldie are going out together. Glo called from New York. She hasn't had mail all week from Jack and wondered if we did. We haven't had mail either and are wondering what's what? Adele likes to crawl on my back, hug me and make me “piggy back” her all over the place. She adores it and keeps begging me to give her a “piggy back.” (The radio is playing one of my favorite songs at the moment—“My Ideal.) (Guess I don’t have to say what or whom I'm thinking of, huh). 

It rained again today. If the weather is nice tomorrow, Adele will go out for the first time in two weeks. She had color in her face and looked completely well today. I'm not in a letter-writing mood, sweetness, I only want to “love” you this evening. Mind very much if I snuggle up and go to sleep on your shoulder, honey? I love you, darling mine! 

Your Eve 

February 26, 1944 


Last night, after very dull day, I lay down on my bunk to take a nap, meaning to get up at 9 o'clock to write my “daily dozen.” Unfortunately I didn't wake ’til almost 10 o'clock and it was then too late to start a letter. I hate to miss writing even for a day, Sweet. Believe it or not—I was uneasy all day today because of it. I promise it won't happen again. 

Today I checked all the service records for discrepancies and incomplete entries. They were in pretty good shape, but there was enough work on them to keep me busy every minute of the day. I even worked an hour later than usual in order to complete the work. 

There was no mail for the third consecutive day. I'm looking forward to a fresh batch tomorrow or the next day. I did receive a V-mail from Gloria today. She wants me to send a request so she might send me a birthday gift. Darn nice of her, I thought. By the way, I forgot to mention that I received my first birthday greeting a few days ago from Harry and Goldie. Tell them thanks for me, will you, Sweet? I regret that I haven't had nearly as much time for correspondence as I need—else I would write to them. I'm having difficulty finding a free hour or two to answer all those I owe letters and it “gripes” me. If we only had a day off once in awhile, I would use it to good advantage catching up with my correspondence, which is much heavier now than it ever was. Under the circumstances, however, I find it impossible to keep up with it all. I hope everybody concerned will understand. 

Last night, due to my nap earlier in the evening, I lay awake a long time remembering. You only get one guess, Baby, as to the subject of my reminiscing. One particular line in your last letter letter made an indelible impression on me. You said that on the day I come back to you, you want to look exactly like the girl I married. A very sentimental thought, darling, and a very sweet one. I love your absolute understanding of what is nearest and dearest to my heart. You need have no doubts on that score, though, ’cause regardless of your attire, once I hold you close in my arms, my heart alone will tell me that this is my own beloved bride. Really, my Evvie, I never could get used to the idea that you were my wife and no longer my sweetheart, in the accepted sense of the word. Rarely, if ever, did I ever contemplate you without being conscious of a sense of wonder that you belonged irrevocably to me. The novelty of living with Evelyn Paller; seeing her, quite matter-of-factly, preparing to go to bed with me; calling herself Mrs. Phil Strongin—never wore off for me. I doubt if it ever will. I just can't take you for granted, Angel, and it seems to me I will never be quite convinced that I need not worry about “winning” you. Today—almost on the Eve of our third anniversary, I do not think of you as wife, or mother of my child, or even the sweetheart who promised herself to me one unforgettable, uniquely beautiful night. Today, just as the first time I saw you, you are the lovely, vivacious, exciting “Chippie,” the first sight of whom filled me with a consuming desire to possess her and to be possessed by her. It may surprise you to learn, Chippie, that that initial hunger for you has never been sated. Do you begin to understand why you are still “Chippie”—not wife—or mother? 

Whatever thoughts may crowd your image into my subconscious through the day, just as surely as 10:30 P.M. arrives every twenty-four hours, I'll be thinking only of you, my adored Chippie. Never ignore 5:30—that's when I'm with you. My love to the punkin. My love to all. 

Your Phil 

February 27, 1944 

Dearest Chippie, 

Just got back from the movie. Red and I took in the first show. The picture was “Hit Parade of 1943” with John Carrol and Susan Hayward. The picture itself isn't such-a-much, but Susan is a cute little dish, and her impish personality made it enjoyable. The sound system, though, is as bad as ever, and the music and singing is very distorted. This makes it impossible to enjoy the best musical, let alone the grade “B” product we saw tonight. 

This afternoon we had a swell lunch. Believe it or not, Sweet, I ate chicken and actually enjoyed it. It was “southern-fried” and tasted like anything but chicken. The vegetables were mashed potatoes, green peas, coleslaw. Dessert was sliced pineapple. As is my custom, when I particularly enjoy the meal, I went back for seconds. 

Still no mail, but I'm still looking for that “jack-pot.” 

Somehow I can't find the time to write to everyone I owe letters to. Tomorrow, if I do nothing else, I'll get off a few, anyhow. 

Everything is moving along smoothly. The Company got a new CO today, 1st Lt. Crane. Captain Burket was transferred out. Outside of that, nothing new or startling happened today. 

Guess you see by the papers that “our boys” are knocking hell out of the Luftwaffe. Well, that's what we're here for—to help “our boys” do just that. 

This will have to be a “shortie,” Baby, so I'll just bid you the usual fond adieu, tell you that I love you just a little more than I did yesterday, and bid you kiss the punkin for me and give my love to all. I am 

Your Phil 

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