Tuesday, February 1, 2022

Post #469 - September 29, 1944 It’s Exactly Two Months to Our Daughter’s Second Birthday and There Was a Time When I Thought I was the Master of Myself


Sept. 29, 1944

Dearest Phil,

Today, sweet, your most welcome letter of the 20th arrived. So you're company clerk now with a man to help you out! If only they'd give you that Sgt. stripe - By the way. Gloria said she has a feeling Jack will make Sgt. in the near future. Many men keep moving in and out and he has an opportunity, so who knows?

We have our radio back and it plays once more. It's a pleasure! Well, honey, it's exactly two months to our daughter's second birthday - do you still have hopes of making it? I guess you’ll have to wait for the third one, but definitely! I've been calling the shoe stores every few days and am still unable to obtain the corrective shoes for Adele. Besides this her other shoes are getting smaller all the time and it will soon be necessary for me to have shoes - corrective or not. Why is it I always have to get everything the hard way? No shoes, no stroller - I don't know. How I wish you were here to shop for me!

Last night I succeeded in writing four other letters besides yours. I wrote to Sy, Ed, Phil (cousin Phil Strongin) and Jack N. I had just received the reproductions of the snaps we took together and sent them right along to him. I'm not surprised that you haven't heard from him, but, undoubtedly, he is so wrapped up in Marilyn that he hasn't time to think, let alone writing. I sent several of Adele's other snaps which were my favorites for Jack to enlarge for me.

It became cooler again today, but it still isn't necessary to turn on the heat. I love this not too warm, not too cold weather. I'm still giving my suit daily wear, wearing a different blouse each day. I think, sweet, that I am going to have my eyes examined first chance I get. My eyes get tired too quickly and nine times out of ten they cause me severe headaches when that way. Remember how you used to ask me if I could see little print at at distance? Well, I haven't tested myself, but I intend to have them examined to be sure. My brother Jack is familiar with an excellent eye doctor in the neighborhood and I shall have Jack talk to him for me. I do use my eyes more than ever these days, what with knitting, typing, etc. It's only a wonder they get so tired.

I spoke to Dot this evening. Remember Edith and Marty or didn't you meet them? Well, Marty was a 4-F due to underweight and was rejected many times. Finally they went on their own (they had been living with her folks) and suddenly he was recalled and accepted, having left today. Dot plays gin mummy almost every night in the week and I rarely find her home when I call. I've been meaning to see her these past few weekends, but never could manage it. Perhaps I’ll see her tomorrow, If Adele will go to sleep early. And now if’n you don't mind, baby, move a little closer so that I can love you some more. Gee, but I adore you!

Your Eve

September 29, 1944 

My Darling Evvie,

Didn't write last night cause I was just too tired. Not physically, perhaps, but my brain just refused to function. I had another of those rare attacks of homesickness that leave me with no desire to do anything but lay on my bunk and court oblivion in sleep. What induces these occasional pangs of an overwhelming longing for you and home, I don't exactly know.

It may have been the snatch of song heard on a barracks radio while passing by, or the melancholy dusk of the autumn twilight, or something about the demure little walk of a sweet-faced, blond little girl I encountered walking along the road with her old grandmother, or it may have been a combination of all three - of none of them. I don't know. All I do know is that I suddenly felt horribly alone and lonely, and that I longed for the sight of you more acutely than I have in months. Anyway, Sweet, it brought on a torpor in me that I couldn't fight off long enough to write you the customary letter. Tonight, though I miss you as much as ever, only a vestige of last night's depression remains.

There wasn't much doing in the Orderly Room today, but a number of things came up that will have to be tended to tomorrow. I am CQ again tonight, and it is so still here in the Orderly Room that I can almost hear the scraping as I collect my thoughts.

Your V-mail of 21 Sept, which arrived yesterday, is propped up in front of me. You were in high spirits that day because you had received a lot of mail. Unfortunately, honey, your letter is chatty and informative and nothing in it inspires a thought or question on my part.

I was just out to deliver a message. It is a clear, cool night, and the harvest moon riding serenely among wispy bits of white cloud, is redolent of many memories, all tending to induce that sweet-sad feeling that is born of such memories. Memories that are more felt than remembered.

I'm in a very curious mood again tonight, Sweet, so if I say anything that sounds a little queer, please forgive me.

Right now I am trying to subdue an unwanted urge to cut this short and hit the sack, which seems to be beckoning invitingly. Really, Sweet, I hardly know what to write about. Everything that crosses my thoughts seems to be so insignificant beside the great intensity of longing that is as a tangible weight in my breast, that I am very little inclined to expend the little effort required to put them down. Darling, if faith and hope were not equally strong within me, I think I would just perish for the lack of something to live for. It is only the thought of being one day with you once again that sustains me in these senseless, wasted days and months. I feel, sometimes, that time is static - that I am living in an aura of suspense - and all sorts of odd impressions assail me from time to time.

The dream of coming home - of just being with you and Adele, visualized a thousand times since I left you, has attained to a pricelessness that makes the wish for its fulfillment so intense, that it is almost a physical discomfort to allow myself to dwell on it. I had flattered myself, Ev dearest, that the worst pangs of loneliness and heartsickness were far behind me, but unfortunately, I was wrong. I find myself wanting you (at this late date) almost desperately at times. There was a time, I’ll admit, when I thought I was the master of myself to the extent that I could learn to take this longing for you for granted, that I could live with it with equanimity. Instead, my distress, the result of the continued inaccessibility of my dearest - almost my only wish, is increasingly difficult to stifle. My head tells me that I am a fool to tell you this, my sweet, but my heart wants to cry out to you for solace and comfort and will not be stilled by the saner admonitions of my mind. Please, Baby, forgive my heart's impulsiveness. Still it's clamoring for you by re-assuring it with your love. It loves you so much ~! Do you begin to understand, honey, why it is almost impossible for me to write of anything else while I feel this way? Somehow, I feel better now that I got that off my chest. See you tomorrow, Chippie. My dearest love to you and the punkin. My love to all.

Your Phil

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