June 12, 1944
Dearest Phil,
Your letter of May 21st got through this morning and accompanying it was a bond. I shall try to get a package off this week, as I promised, since your letter is a request. Sorry about the loss of another tooth, but I guess it is just as well. You may wonder why I am using the pen. Well, sweet, it is very warm today and I thought it wiser to sit outside and get a bit of the breeze that wanders by every few minutes. I'm sitting in Betty's rocking chair in the driveway. This morning I visited Anne. Tony is in on a 13 day furlough. I stayed only a half hour, so that I wouldn't be late for work. In that time, Tony took two snaps of Adele with Ricky which I hope turn out well. Mom tells me that the doll Rae bought for Adele is beautiful. She told Rae to bring it over herself since it was her gift. Etta and Nat brought Mom home from Ethel's last night. Mom, incidentally, got your Jewish letter today. The afternoon at work flew and before I knew it, I was back home. Adele slept til 7:35 and was a good girl all day. Can't say much else, except, of course, that I love you dearly and always will be
Your Eve
13 June 1944
My Darling,
I hate to have to make excuses for not writing, but it seems it is becoming increasingly necessary.
Yesterday, being somewhat bored with hanging about the Orderly Room, and having just completed the payroll, I asked Sgt. Murphy to let me go as assistant driver on a convoy about to leave for a rail-head to pick up bombs. I wanted a change of scene, and I thought I might get something for the company history this month. Sgt. Murphy said O.K., so I got to go. I'd like to tell you something about the trip, and the methods employed in the handling of the bombs, but there I’d be bucking the censor, and I don't do that knowingly. Suffice it to say that while I enjoyed the trip, and learned a few things, I was dog-tired when we rolled into camp. I had developed a nasty headache, too, and when the time for writing came, I just wasn’t up to it. Instead, although it was still early, I went to bed.
Just finished reading your and Ruth's letters of 3 June, which arrived this afternoon.
In this one (back-dated, by the way) you inform me that you are now a "working gal.” Oddly enough, I anticipated your hypothetical question, which was meant to anticipate my query, by a few days. I mean "and you may ask why I am even thinking of working when you consider what remains.” Further, you anticipate my question by answering it in the next sentence. All I can say, Baby, I have already said—good-luck! Even if I can’t justify your action to my own satisfaction, I certainly admire the spirit that prompted it
The rest of your letter is devoted to talk about the family, and requires no comment. Everything seems to be going along normally back there, and I’m thankful for that
Still waiting to hear on which day I became an uncle.—Which reminds me—in the mess hall this noon, I ran into Klein, who informed me that Evelyn Wolf (remember?) had a boy yesterday. I expect to get up to see the proud parents this Sunday evening.
Ruth's letter contained two old snaps, which were not too good. Neither you nor the punkin “came out” too well. Ruth, though, looks quite attractive.
I, in common with almost everyone else around here, am still greatly pre-occupied with “the invasion.” When I’m not listening to the news broadcasts, I’m reading a paper or contemplating a map, or just wondering about it. The news we do get is very sketchy, and we suspect that you in the States know more about what is happening than we do.
I read an interesting item in the “Stars and Stripes" the other day. A German claim had it that the 1st, 29th, 6th Airborne, and a few other Infantry divisions "suffered the heaviest casualties.” I needn't tell you why this item was especially significant for me—I think you know that the “29th” is my old outfit. If the report is true, they must have been among the first to land. Food for conjecture, isn’t it, Sweet?
Right now I'm listening to Jascha Heifetz, playing with Andre Kostelanetz’ orchestra. In happier surroundings, I could want no better entertainment, but the edge is somehow taken from the keenness of my pleasure in Heifetz’ superb music by my present environment and all it entails and signifies. Yet it is pleasing to a great extent. It's just that this type of thing is incapable of producing, or inspiring in me that once well-loved sense of complete contentment and relaxation. (Remember those long, lazy, luxurious, and utterly lovely Sunday afternoons, when I had eyes only for you, and ears only for the various symphony programs?) Right now I’m as close to uttering that “sound” you referred to as (huh-huh) in today's letter (you bet I remember it), as I ever was.
Au revoir, my darling. If you feel at any time, what I am feeling at this instant, then I can only sympathize with you, and long, more than ever, to hold you very close to me, to stroke your hair, and to whisper whatever of re-assurance and encouragement I am able to afford you. And while I had you in such favorable circumstances, I don't see how I could refrain from whispering some thing else—I adore you, Sweet.
My best love to our darling daughter. Some day t'll convey to her, in person, that no one loves her in just the same way as does her daddy—
Phil
My Darling,
I hate to have to make excuses for not writing, but it seems it is becoming increasingly necessary.
Yesterday, being somewhat bored with hanging about the Orderly Room, and having just completed the payroll, I asked Sgt. Murphy to let me go as assistant driver on a convoy about to leave for a rail-head to pick up bombs. I wanted a change of scene, and I thought I might get something for the company history this month. Sgt. Murphy said O.K., so I got to go. I'd like to tell you something about the trip, and the methods employed in the handling of the bombs, but there I’d be bucking the censor, and I don't do that knowingly. Suffice it to say that while I enjoyed the trip, and learned a few things, I was dog-tired when we rolled into camp. I had developed a nasty headache, too, and when the time for writing came, I just wasn’t up to it. Instead, although it was still early, I went to bed.
Just finished reading your and Ruth's letters of 3 June, which arrived this afternoon.
In this one (back-dated, by the way) you inform me that you are now a "working gal.” Oddly enough, I anticipated your hypothetical question, which was meant to anticipate my query, by a few days. I mean "and you may ask why I am even thinking of working when you consider what remains.” Further, you anticipate my question by answering it in the next sentence. All I can say, Baby, I have already said—good-luck! Even if I can’t justify your action to my own satisfaction, I certainly admire the spirit that prompted it
The rest of your letter is devoted to talk about the family, and requires no comment. Everything seems to be going along normally back there, and I’m thankful for that
Still waiting to hear on which day I became an uncle.—Which reminds me—in the mess hall this noon, I ran into Klein, who informed me that Evelyn Wolf (remember?) had a boy yesterday. I expect to get up to see the proud parents this Sunday evening.
Ruth's letter contained two old snaps, which were not too good. Neither you nor the punkin “came out” too well. Ruth, though, looks quite attractive.
I, in common with almost everyone else around here, am still greatly pre-occupied with “the invasion.” When I’m not listening to the news broadcasts, I’m reading a paper or contemplating a map, or just wondering about it. The news we do get is very sketchy, and we suspect that you in the States know more about what is happening than we do.
I read an interesting item in the “Stars and Stripes" the other day. A German claim had it that the 1st, 29th, 6th Airborne, and a few other Infantry divisions "suffered the heaviest casualties.” I needn't tell you why this item was especially significant for me—I think you know that the “29th” is my old outfit. If the report is true, they must have been among the first to land. Food for conjecture, isn’t it, Sweet?
Right now I'm listening to Jascha Heifetz, playing with Andre Kostelanetz’ orchestra. In happier surroundings, I could want no better entertainment, but the edge is somehow taken from the keenness of my pleasure in Heifetz’ superb music by my present environment and all it entails and signifies. Yet it is pleasing to a great extent. It's just that this type of thing is incapable of producing, or inspiring in me that once well-loved sense of complete contentment and relaxation. (Remember those long, lazy, luxurious, and utterly lovely Sunday afternoons, when I had eyes only for you, and ears only for the various symphony programs?) Right now I’m as close to uttering that “sound” you referred to as (huh-huh) in today's letter (you bet I remember it), as I ever was.
Au revoir, my darling. If you feel at any time, what I am feeling at this instant, then I can only sympathize with you, and long, more than ever, to hold you very close to me, to stroke your hair, and to whisper whatever of re-assurance and encouragement I am able to afford you. And while I had you in such favorable circumstances, I don't see how I could refrain from whispering some thing else—I adore you, Sweet.
My best love to our darling daughter. Some day t'll convey to her, in person, that no one loves her in just the same way as does her daddy—
Phil
My darling,
No mail today and I'm looking forward to getting something tomorrow. As I write we are busy timing Goldie, who is having labor pains—at long last. They are far apart as they were that Saturday previous to the day I gave birth and she has been having them off and on all day long. Undoubtedly my next or second letter to this will contain the news of a new Strongin.
I did get a new Social Security card, same number, but with my new name. I shopped for Mom on Broad Street with Adele this morning, buying mostly groceries and two pairs of stockings for myself. I ripped a pair at work the other day when I bent to file some letters, I should tell you what I'm wearing each day, now that I sort of dress up. Well, yesterday I wore my soldier suit and today I wore my black net dress with a white dickie.
I managed to get two letters off last night, one to Milt, the other to Eddie. I'm still way behind in my correspondence, and I doubt if I'll ever catch up now.
I frequently take Adele for a walk to Feldman's drugstore to show her the bunnies he raises for medical purposes. She watched them very closely the other day and now has a new habit. When you ask her what the bunny did, she rubs her hand across her face. She saw the bunny washing its face and imitates perfectly. Mr. Bellet referred me to a juvenile furniture house in an effort to help me obtain a stroller carriage for Adele. I stopped there before going to work today, but no luck. The seller claims that only one manufacturer in the country is making them at present and that they are scarcer than diamonds. He said, “Lady, you have a job on your hands.” Mr. Bellet has an order in, but hasn't any idea of when they will come in. I guess I'll have to wait whether I like it or not. Either I haven't got the money or I can't get the item. What a screwy system! Oh well, all's well that ends well.
Goldie’s pains are coming more frequently and I'm going to time her to get a more accurate picture of what is happening. I have a hunch she'll go to the hospital within the next few hours, even sooner. It looks like Adele will be exactly 18-1/2 months older than Goldie's baby.
Nothing more today in the way of news, except that it was very warm today. Of course, and as usual, I have my sweet word for you, dearest, and I'd like nothing better than to take you in my empty arms, draw you very close and whisper in your ear how very dear you are to me. Good night, sweetheart, hope I'll have that news for you tomorrow.
Your Eve
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