Monday, August 16, 2021

Post #393 - June 15, 16, 1944 I Read the Headline that the Germans were Bombing England with Rocket Ships or Pilotless Missiles and If I Could Save the Life of Just One Man by Spending an Extra Year Over Here, I would Do It—Gladly


June 16, 1944 

My dearest, 

I couldn't write yesterday and you will learn why subsequently. I haven't received mail for two days now and I'm so disgusted with the mail that I have no appetite whatever for writing. However, here goes: 

Yesterday morning I cleaned, as the girl was supposed to come in and didn't show up. She came today instead. When I finished cleaning I did a bit of washing and then it was time for me to eat, dress and get off to work. When I got home, I ate supper, dressed and went to see Goldie. This is what happened. 

Etta and Nat had promised to stop over during the week as they had bought Adele a belated 1st birthday gift and wanted to deliver it. In the meantime, they intended to visit Goldie, so Mom and I went along. The gift was a lovely red and white candy striped pinafore that is edged with white rouching, flared skirt, little pocket trimmed with rouching, small square above skirt to cover chest and crisscross straps over the back. It's very flattering and very pretty. Since there was no one to put Adele to sleep, (My family had to go away) Sarah and Betty offered to look after her, thereby enabling me to go. 

We got to the hospital at 8 and stayed til 9. Goldie looks fine and we couldn't get a good look at Diana Jean. Yes, it will be Diana Jean, even though G.'s dad didn't approve at first. Diana Jean struck me as being a very thin baby with a largish nose, but then Adele has me spoiled as far as new offspring are concerned. Of course, she has fine possibilities and no doubt will be quite an attractive young lady one day. I don't blame Goldie for wanting to nurse—I think it would do Diana good. 

By the time we got home, it was rather late and I was much too weary to think of writing. It's kinda late now, but write I must. Enclosed you will find the latest snaps of Adele, which I think are mighty cute. Look closely at her hair, sweet, as it looks very natural in these pictures. It falls all over her head in little ringlets and curls. You know dear, I'm very much afraid that Adele has the Strongin legs meaning a trifle bowed, as picture with handbag will disclose. It may be this that is causing the pigeon-toedness I spoke of. I'm giving her to the end of the summer to straighten out, and if she doesn't by that time I shall definitely take her to a doctor. It isn't by any means that bad, but nevertheless I would hate to see any girl with legs even a teeny weeny bowed. Doesn't she look as though she's at least 3? Lil keeps telling me I'm nuts and to stop giving it any thought, that it takes time and will straighten itself out. 

I sort of caught my breath when I read the headline that the Germans were bombing England with rocket ships or pilotless missiles, whatever they are. Can't help wondering where you were. 

Honeybun, it's getting close to Father's Day and you will be missed terribly. Wish I could do something as surprising as you did, but would you mind very much if I said we miss you so much, daddy? 

Ethel and Rae were also at the hospital last night and I must repeat one of Ethel's remarks. She said as we left the hospital, “I'm sure you'll give Phil a son as soon as he comes home, (meaning I'd start in). I said I wasn't sure, but if it was a real long time since we got together—who knows? All I want right now is for you to come back to your loving 


P.S. Mom sent Goldie a lovely bouquet of flowers as a surprise. G.’s folks are coming here Sunday for the day and the Wymans are coming over also for dinner. Sure do wish you could be here! 

15 June 1944 

Ev, darling, 

Your V-mails of 6, 7 June just arrived and because I failed to answer the one of the 5th (arrived yesterday), I now have three of your letters to answer. Before I start, I want to say that the weather was lovely today and not a single thing of interest took place all day. I'm wondering on what day you began to receive my mail again, and how many arrived at once. The weather you're having sounds screwy. A few weeks back we were talking about the heat. Now it's so cool you're wearing your suit to work. 

Hope you get the opportunity to accept Tante Bosh's kind invitation to visit her at the shore. I'll bet the punkin will love it! 

Again, you mentioned her ability to jump rope! Seriously, now Mrs. Strongin, do you mean to sit there and try to convince me that my daughter actually does so? You can hardly blame me for appearing incredulous—after all—!

At last: your D-Day letter!—And “all (you) can think of is—when will it be over.” What am I supposed to say to that, darling? Next week? Next month? I'm disappointed in you, Sweet, I really am. I know the typically human failing to think of oneself and one’s dear ones first, and others—later, if at all. I thought you could be more unselfish about the whole thing and be more concerned for the safety and welfare of the boys who are going into the thick of it, than for your hubby, who is too darned “safe” for his own peace of mind in his present situation. I just can't get it out of my head that thousands of guys who have every bit as much right to peace and family and happiness as I, will die in France and possibly all through Europe in order to make it possible for the rest of us to realize the dream common to all of us in the Services. Believe me, darling, if I could save the life of just one man by spending an extra year over here, I would do it—gladly. So you see, the date of my homecoming isn't so important, when one thinks what worlds of suffering and dying must be accomplished before, and in order to make this “happy ending” possible. I'd rather you wept a thousand tears for the fallen, than that you breathe one sigh of relief or gladness prematurely on my account. Only then could I take pride in returning. I don't know how much you have thought about it, Chippie, but I feel very deeply about it knowing as I do how similar are the hopes and aspirations of all soldiers, and realizing what of both dies with the man. In all conscience, I am not unduly morbid—I flatter myself my sense of values is more matured than yours. Therefore, my own, pay heed when I say Cheer our gallant fighting men; rejoice with and for the liberated peoples; applaud each and every victory—but only after you have taken sober cognizance of and breathed a prayer for the eternal comfort of those who fell to send the rest forward to that particular goal. Remember, when you read in the papers that “our casualties were light” that the dear ones of those light casualties would find it most difficult to subscribe to the spirit of such an assertion. Keep all this in mind, my dear, so that when Victory and all it entails and produces, is one day ours, you can and will bring the proper spirit of humility to the joy of our reunion. 

The “D” in D-Day stands for nothing more nor less than “Day”—the day, get it? Just as the “H” in H-Hour stands for the hour. 

Sorry Cy Benis couldn't find the time to stop. 

How do you like your new pen by now? What kind is it? Glad and proud that you are making good progress in your new job. I'm especially happy that the punkin has been a good girl. Keep an eye on your Mom. If caring for her proves to be a strain on her, and frankly, I can't see how she will fail to be, I'll thank you to conclude the “arrangement.” I don't want my daughter to be a burden, especially physically, on anyone—least of all your Mom. 

If Harry’s concern with the invasion was chiefly with the fact that it closed all the race tracks, well—I won't get abusive until I know that such was definitely the case. I truly hate to hear that it was. Please, Chippie, tell me more about how you first heard the news, what your first reaction was, what the others said about it, etc. If I seem to be very much interested in all your reactions to the news, let me hasten to verify this impression—I am. You should understand why from some of the foregoing. 

You seem to be having trouble again in your quest for new shoes for the punkin. Hope you succeed in getting her a good-fitting pair this time. 

Just how much was the gas bill this past year that the gas company owes you money? 

I was surprised to hear that the guy who rented the garage reneged on three months rent. He seemed such an honest, upright man. 

Your description of Adele's treatment of Varton’s picture of “us” is highly edifying. I begin to have hopes that perhaps she will know her dad when he shows up in the flesh. As to that—I have a plan to test her on that score. I've thought about it often. Someday, when my homecoming is more imminent, I will explain it. The time is not yet, Chippie, so don't press me for details. 

If Mr. Bellet thinks I look like a movie actor in my picture, he'll soon be disillusioned once he’s seen me. That picture did flatter me, if I remember it. As for your own private views on the subject, I agree you are prejudiced, and how! That's one prejudice, though, that I’d just hate to have you lose. 

You probably are well acquainted with the fact that the “G.I. Bill of Rights” is law (at least it should be by the time this reaches you). Just in case you overlooked it, though, I am sending along the clipping from the “Stars and Stripes.” Got any idea in this connection? Let's hear, Baby. 

I have to go now 'cause I'm going into town tonight with Klein and Sgt. Murphy to see “Tender Comrade.” Tell you all about it tomorrow, Sweet. 

Hasta maƱana, then, sweetheart. My love to the punkin et al. 

Your Phil