Post #270 - January 15, 1944 Mom is Mailing Off a Letter to Zelda and Wishes You to Write to Her

 

January 15, 1944 

Dearest Hubby,

Mom didn't care for the color, (heather blue) of her fascinator, and Mickey offered to take it. When she tried it on, she really “went” for it. Looks well on her, bringing out the blue of her eyes. To make a long story short, I'm now making the exact same thing for Mickey. Speaking of eyes—Adele's eyes are light brown around the pupil and grey from there on. Finally, huh? Takes after you, sweet. 

We may lose our next door neighbors. The sink stopped up and a water pipe broke. When Betty complained, the landlord told her to fix it herself or move. She told him off. They fixed the damages, but she was fired, however, as they put up a ”For Sale” sign. She is disgusted with being shoved around and may buy a home shortly. 

Al has to report to his draft board on Tuesday, so we'll know what's what. Ethel just loves her fascinator and raves about the neatness of my work. I'm going to make her newcomer a white sweater and cap (with the white satin thread running through it). 

Ruth and I went to 5th and Olney last night, but didn't get a thing. All they have in the dress line is not worth a rusty collar button. Ruth tried on many (from $9 to $15) and there wasn't one I would buy. Better luck next time. I'll probably go downtown with her on Wednesday night. 

Mom is mailing off a letter to Zelda, enclosing that particular snap I like so well of Adele. Mom will send you her address and wishes you to write to her. 

I managed to get two precious rolls of film after much shopping and patience. I shall try to get as many different poses of Adele as I 

January 16, 1944 

can and, of course, the snap of my fur coat and suit. Helen called yesterday and asked me to lend her the fur coat for a big date, to which I naturally said yes. However, she postponed (or rather—called off) the date so she didn't take it after all. Miss Hahn called this morning. My stationery came in, so you'll see it shortly. She wants me this Wed. and next Wed. I can't go all day, but I think I can manage 4 hrs. It isn't really worth it to me, but she has been swell and depends on me. Furthermore, I shall always be able to get any discount permitted on any magazine books, stationery and whatever else she may sell. I'm surprised she still wants me. The magazine companies have had a hard time with green help and rationing of paper, and consequently, there are numerous complaints and errors. Hence, her need of my services. I'm almost broke and the extra money will keep me going for a while. 

I wasn't in the letter writing mood last night, that accounting for the two dates. I did do some knitting on Adele's peach sweater, nearly completing the front. 

It snowed last night and there is about an inch of snow over all. It was a pretty sight this morning. 

Ruth received a letter from Eddie and he said that he received 50 (yes, I said 50) letters at one time plus three packages. I sure do hope you’ve seen him by now. 

Mom, Harry and Goldie are going to the Browns for dinner and a movie. I can't go 'cause I can't get anyone to take care of Adele. It's times such as these that give me that unrepressed urge to have you near me. I get all filled to overflowing with desire to see you. I'm waiting for Adele to wake up from her afternoon nap. I finished writing to Harry W. and Jack S. Got to keep up with my correspondence. This morning Adele wet the crib and when she saw me approaching she covered it over with the blanket—knowing I would get angry. She watches my facial expressions closely, and when I'm displeased, does everything she can to change the expression to a pleasant one. This morning I took her into bed with me and I pointed to various items in the room and named them. Then I repeated. She knew where to look for each one—picture—above our bed, da-da—on the chest, baby—above her crib, and so forth. She likes to hear the clock tick tock and invariably motions to Goldie to put her wrist watch to her ear. She says “tick tick” as she listens. She likes to open all the drawers and either throws the contents of the drawer on the floor or changes contents of one drawer to another. 

(Later) I had a swell afternoon. Ethel, Al and Paul stopped over to bring the candy I had ordered and some lamb chops Mom had ordered. They suggested I go back with them and they would drive me home, with, of course, Adele. Well, baby, you ought to see Adele make love to Al—she kisses him on the lips and he loves it. Every time Paul motions to her with outstretched arms, she throws her arms around his neck. What a kid!! Ethel is overly “nuts” about her. 

Well, sweetness, time to say how much I love you. I have your picture before me and I kiss it now. Oh darling, how I love you! 

Your Eve 

January 15, 1944 

Dear Phil:

Your V-mail was received and it was certainly good hearing from you. Glad to hear you received the package and liked it. We all here are fine and we hope you are in the best of health also. Milton was home this past week-end for one day. Sunday Tante, Harry and Goldie were at the house and we all had dinner together, and we took pictures, which we hope come out. The boys are fine. Mickey and Miriam are still in Florida, and I suppose you know Syd is in Italy. We have received pictures from him and he looks wonderful. Also received your letter and you really look well. Well, I've covered all the news up to the present so I will close. Hoping to hear from you soon. 

Regards from all. 
Uncle Nish, Tante Bash and Beatrice. 

Post #269 - January 14, 1944 Ruth Has Gotten Thinner and Shapelier and I Rode to the End of the Line, Which Happened to be Aldwych and the Strand

 

January 14, 1944 

Dearest Phil,

Yours of the 5th (V-mail) (Incidentally, where did you acquire the habit of writing the date as such: 14 Jan. 44.) (I like it.) was in the mail this morning. I'm glad you won, especially after asking for a few “spares” in my previous letter. I'm contemplating the purchase of three rather expensive items, to wit: a sports coat (mine is completely shot and I've outgrown it). (I saw a lovely red camel hair fitted coat with a black velvet collar that I'd like to own, but the price was a bit too high $49.95) a dress (I haven’t a decent dressy one in my wardrobe) and that hat I mentioned in my previous letter. I'm still waiting for your suggestion. I'm fairly set on a medium size off-the-face, as a large hat would be too much for the bulky coat. I don't know whether to get a “made up” hat and have it trimmed with the fur or have the whole thing made. Do you think I'm getting extravagant? I saw the enclosed ad in the paper and thought it would be nice if Adele and I could have such a set. There will be plenty of nicer ones when the warmer weather sets in, but I wondered at your opinion of these. I would prefer “pinnies” with ruffles as they are more feminine. So much for clothes, except that I'm going to accompany Ruth to 5th and Olney to help her select address and shoes for her graduation, which comes on Jan. 28th. She goes into her second year of “high.” She has gotten thinner and shapelier—she's developed more than I am and is quite attractive. She still has some babyish ways, and when they disappear, she will be quite an attractive young lady. 

A few people were hurt ’cause you neglected to send them your picture (isn't it always the case?) I gave mom the spare, but she gave it to Harry and Goldie to pacify them. Etta and Nat also said sumpin’, but I set them straight. That 8 by 10 still goes. Betty says they come through alright, as she got one from her brother in Africa. 

We got two V-mails from Jack S. and he wishes us well, as usual. His morale is unusually high considering the fact that he is in New Guinea. 

I’ve finished Mom’s fascinator. I did a lot of hard work yesterday and today—I took the mattress off our bed, cleaned the springs and turned it over (Ruth helped). I cleaned the windows in our room and all those on the porch. I washed the floors, a whole cellar of clothes and pressed. I dusted, polished and swept. Sarah and I took Adele for a walk to Broad Street. 

I guess there will be a pile of mail for you when you get back from your furlough. Wish I could be there, too. I love you so much, Phil. 

Your Eve

January 14, 1944 
(12 M.)

Ev, Darling

After two days of almost continuous activity, I'm taking it easy. If I leave the club at all today, it will be to go to services. Now to resume where I left off—after finishing my letter of the 12th, (it was about 8:00 P.M.) I wandered into the ballroom where the Hans Crescent table tennis team was playing against the team from General Electric. The teams were pretty evenly matched and the players of pretty good caliber, and the action was hotly contested, which all served to make it interesting for the spectator. After an hour or so this, I suddenly remembered that there was a command performance of symphony records scheduled for the “music room,” and I wasted no time getting there. The “Red Cross” girl in charge had just put on Handel’s “Water Music” when I entered. There were about 20 G.I.s laying about the place in easy chairs, with that faraway dreamy look in their eyes. I sat myself down in a straight-backed wooden chair that was the only unoccupied seat, and in a jiffy, was “one of the mob”—dreamy eyes and all. The chair was damned uncomfortable and I was forced to change position from time to time, but in spite of it all I managed to enjoy the music; very much so. After the “Water Music,” the ballet music from “Prince Igor” Borodin. This particular record brought memories flooding in its wake. It was once a favorite with Jeanette and myself. The music is Oriental in quality and very colorful and exciting. Then Fritz Kreisler playing “Hymn to the Sun.” Very insipid after the grandeur of “Prince Igor.” The “piece de resistance” of the evening was the entire “Scheherezade Suite” of Rimski Korsakoff. I say the “entire suite” because it is very seldom that one gets the opportunity to listen to all twelve sides of this rather lengthy work. Well, Chippie, you can well imagine what a treat this was for yours very lovingly. So utterly delightful did I find the “Scheherezade,” that I promised myself that that would be the first purchase when we start our collection. It's recorded by Leopold Stokowski and the Phila. Symphony. Next times you are in town, Sweet, stop in at one of the department stores and let them play it for you. I think you will find it well worth your while. Tell me if you agree that it would be a fitting selection to start off with. This just about covers Wednesday. I had a snack of coffee and cake before I went next door to the annex where I am bunking and turned in. I slept snugly and heavily, gratefully conscious of the pleasant and unaccustomed feel of fresh sheets. I must have been very tired, for I didn't wake ’til 10 A.M. the following morning. 

I rolled out without any further ado when I noticed the lateness of the hour. Grabbing a towel, I washed up, then dressed and got out of there. The dining room at the Hans Crescent was jammed to the doors with the queue of some hundred soldiers waiting to get at the counter. Not for me! I had no definite ideas as to what I was going to do and I was in no mood to wait in line for breakfast. So I decided to walk until I chanced on a restaurant. When I got outside, however, and saw the leaden skies and felt the damp and chilly breeze, I changed my mind about walking. I decided to do my sightseeing from the comfortable vantage point of a top deck of a bus. Hopping the first one that came along, I rode to the end of the line, which happened to be Aldwych and the Strand. By this time I was thinking only of breakfast (or brunch—it was now 11:30). As I walked up the Strand, I saw a sign “Tea Shop.” That was for me! I breakfasted on savoury and tea. The “savoury” consists of eggs mixed with cheese on a piece of bread and the whole toasted. Doesn't sound like much, but it was surprisingly tasty. I'm sticking to tea from now on ’cause the English coffee is almost undrinkable (for an American). Breakfast over, I continued my stroll up the Strand. The Strand is a very busy thoroughfare, and I soon got bored with trying to walk in that mob. A fine drizzle had started, and I decided it was high time to look for shelter. Luck was with me, ’cause a block further on, I spied the “Tivoli” where they are showing “Guadalcanal Diary.” I had no intention when I started, of seeing a movie—especially since I had a ticket for the “The Bell” for the evening, and I guess I could have hopped bus at about that time and returned to Hans Crescent and a quiet afternoon loafing, but I did want to see the picture and I never was one to deny myself, so, albeit uncomfortably mindful of your disapproving eye, my Sweet, I treated myself to a ticket. “Guadalcanal Diary,” while a very interesting, fast-moving, realistically action-packed picture, and one bound to impress, is hardly for your stomach, Baby, so pass it by. As for me—well, it was a good picture, so I enjoyed it. After the show; back to the “Tea Shop,” where I repeated my order of a few hours earlier. But before I go on—as if to illustrate further the English affection for “Yank gum” the girl in the ticket booth at the cinema, as she gave me my ticket, inquired, “Do you have any gum soldier?” I'm getting used to it now, so instead of gaping foolishly, I reached into my pocket and gave her the few Chiclets I had left. Anyhow, there I was demurely sipping my tea and reading a newspaper when a well-dressed, well-groomed gentleman in his early forties begged my pardon and wanted to know if I minded if he shared the table. Of course I didn't mind, especially when he showed an inclination for friendly conversation. He proved to be very intelligent and we talked on a variety of subjects over our tea and cigarettes. After a half-hour or so of steady and congenial chatter, he excused himself to keep an appointment. On parting—a healthy hand clasp, “Cheerio, and all the best.” He had not been gone five minutes (I had resumed my perusal of the paper, being in no great hurry to get any place in particular), when another bespectacled gentleman, after asking my leave, took the seat opposite me. He soon evinced the same desire for conversation and I, nothing, loath (both?) obliged him by answering as best I could, the questions he put about America. He proved a very eager listener, and to my great surprise and gratification came back with a few theories and opinions that tallied identically with my own. We got onto the subject of religion and he was surprisingly (for a Christian) well versed in the manners and customs, (even the rituals) of the Jews. We must have talked for close to an hour; when I looked at the time it was 5:30. “The Bell” was scheduled for 6:30 an I wasn't taking any chances on being late, so when the other gentleman got up to go, offering his hand at the same time, and thanking me (can you imagine?) for a very pleasant chat, I was right behind him. The Strand was jammed with people coming out of the various matinees and I literally had to push my way through to Leicester Square (about 10 minutes walk). Lady, you never saw so many uniforms as there are in London now. They seem to outnumber the civilians—I daresay they do. When I reached the Eagle, I had about 45 minutes to “kill” before show-time, so I parked myself in the lounge and finished reading the day's news. At precisely 6:20, I preceded to walk to Haymarket. I have been looking forward to this particular picture, having read some very favorable reviews on it, but I wasn't at all prepared for the surpassing masterpiece it proved to be. I had overheard a G.I. say of it “What is there to it? They blow up a bridge—that's about all! I feel very sorry for that particular G.I. if that is all he saw in it. My opinion, for what it's worth: positively the best of the year, and perhaps second only to “Gone With the Wind” in sheer beauty and dramatic power. Ingrid Bergman, as “Maria” is wonderful beyond the scope of mere adjectives. Lovely, appealing, winning are all adjectives that have been applied many times over to far less deserving heroines. How then to describe her transcendent beauty, the heart-piercing quality of her smile, the sheer genius of her histrionics? Words are pitifully inadequate for the task—of that I'm sure. “Maria” weaves a spell that is difficult to shake off. Her love for Gary Cooper as Robert Jordan is the realest, most inspiring, most heart-rending thing I have ever witnessed on any screen—or in real life for that matter. Whether her chief attraction is in her lovely face and figure, or in her surpassing genius as an actress, it is almost impossible to say. Taken altogether though, the effect is not one wit less than devastating. I could write and write of “Maria” and in the end not even come close to doing her justice. Gary Cooper, as competent as ever, is superbly cast in a part that doesn't call for too much scope in any direction. The critics rave and rave about Tina Paxinou's as “Pilar” without once mentioning the very evident fact that the part is fool-proof. Akim Tamiroff, as I see it, deserves the posies in the “acting” department. His role is difficult to play convincingly (Pilar is cut and dried—if colorful), but he, too, is superb in portraying the complex character of Pablo. The supporting cast is everything that could be desired. The story—suspenseful, intriguing; the production—unstinting; the photography—a joy to behold. But strangely, everything is put in the pale by the stark reality of “Maria.” Need I add SEE IT!? Back to Hans Crescent via the U.G. and thinking all the while whether or not Robert Jordan did the right thing by Maria, and watching the jitterbugs in the ball-room and still wondering—(talk about “from the sublime to the ridiculous”) here it was with a vengeance. A snack again,—and still wondering. To bed finally,—and, (you guessed it),—still wondering. Today I'm more or less convinced that there “ain't no such,” I mean, men of the steel that Robert Jordan seemed made of. Seems to me that if Maria is “real” and she is—as unquestionably as love and women are real, then the quasi nobleness of Robert Jordan is a lie. A real man would have understood the love of Maria, and, understanding, would have reacted entirely differently from the well intentioned, but withal thick-skulled Robert Jordan. (Or maybe I'm crazy!) Anyway, there's food for a lot of thought in that ending—you’ll see. 

This morning I again woke much later than usual, the time—10:30. For a change, clear skies and a bit of welcome sun. After rubbing my beard, I decided that I better shave—damn it. Breakfast at the Kardomah Cafe on Brompton Road, and, surprisingly, another chat with an Englishman who chose to sit at my table although there were plenty of empty tables in the place. He was a pleasant-faced old man with an iron-gray mustache, and a bit of an intellectual. He wanted to know if I had visited the Abbey, the Palace, etc. He tried to acquaint me with the desirability of a Russian Bath and was surprised when I informed him of my “weakness” for the Turkish Baths. So we chatted about this and that while I put away a prodigious meal of sausage, beans, mashed potatoes, roll and butter, three cups of tea, two cakes, a trifle, and (on his ill-advised recommendation), a cup of the famous “Kardomah Coffee.” Ugh! I bore no grudge, though, and we parted friends, Almost forgot to tell you, Honey; I stepped on the scales yesterday and that hand went to 12s-3 (171 lbs. and stopped right there. Not bad, eh? (Who you callin’ Skinny?) 

Directly from the “Kardomah” to Hans Crescent to knock this off, which I'm just about finished doing. It is now exactly 4:38 and time to conclude this with the heartfelt wish that you could be here, Chippie, to share my holiday. My only regret is that this is not so. However, as I've said before, “there’ll come a day.” Until then, I hope my accounts of my own “good times” give you some measure of divertissement without intruding my own sense of loneliness, which is a constant and troubling companion in my travels. Just as constant, on the other hand, are my thoughts of you, my darling, and I never fail to find solace in the memory of your adored face, your tenderly caressing fingers, and—well, I won't go into that—not now, anyway. (Subtle—ain’t I?) I love not only you, dear; the memory of you is a warm and living thing within me—and I love that, too. Keep the punkin’ well and safe for me and the “day”—Kiss her for me. My love, as always to Mom and all the Strongins and Pallers. My best to the neighbors. I am 

Your ever-lovin’ 
Phil

Post #268 - January 13, 1944 Ruth Taught Adele to Salute

 

January 13, 1944 

Sweet Phil, 

I know from your Jan. 4th, 1944, V-mail that you are now on furlough. I shall expect an exciting longie which you have no doubt started by now. Gosh, how I wish I could share it with you personally! Have a good time, baby! 

Adele has a few new tricks. She rolls on the floor like a puppy and kicks her feet and shouts with glee. She makes “um-good” by rubbing her chest in a circular motion with the palm of her hand. She sways to slow music and sort of bounces to jive. She also changes her weight from one foot to another in a sort of dance. Ruth taught her to salute. I'll drop my hanky and she'll pick it up for me. Rae is here for dinner and brought Adele an all-day lemon sucker. I’ve asked Rae to get me a box of chocolates and a box of chocolate straws and will mail it off with the hankies as soon as I get it. Adele had a grand time with the taffy, but when things began to get “stuck up,” I put it away. It would take me a week to tell you every little thing Adele does. Sorry your luck was bad again. Hope you'll be able to send some of your spares?? along in the near future. And now—what else?—of course!—I love you. 

Your Eve 

Post #267 - January 12, 1944 Adele Has a New Cute Habit and Here is the First of What I Hope to Make a Veritable Series of Letters During This Furlough

 

January 12, 1944 

Jack's birthday

My Phil,

Adele has a new cute habit when asked to show someone her new dress. She picks her dress up daintily (as if to curtesy). I worked 4 hours from Miss Hahn and she would like to have me again—if I can arrange it. Your letter (with two pictures), Dec. 26 arrived plus you Jan. 1st V-mail. We also got a V-mail from Jack S. wishing us a happy New year. 

Goldie and Harry just got back from town—Goldie got two outfits—maternity—both lovely. One is a lavender wool tailored jumper, the other a gray print pinafore style, the former $13 the latter $9. Goldie plans to resign about Feb. 15th or March 1st. 

Not much else to write, baby, so I'm going to cut this really short. Not however, til I tell you that I love you, sweet, the old but dearly loved words. See you tomorrow, sweet. All the other folks also received your pictures. A million kisses, darling 

from Your Eve 

January 12, 1944 

Jack's birthday. 

My Dearest Darling, 

Here is the first of what I hope to make a veritable series of letters during this furlough in London. The logical place to start of course, is at the beginning, and the beginning starts yesterday morning. On arising, instead of the customary fatigues, I donned my class “A” from the skin out and lucky I did, for on learning that there was a 10:20 bus into the town where I catch the train for London, I had to dash like mad to make it, nor would I have attempted it, had I had to change. As it turned out, I missed the bus anyway, but luckily as I reached the gate, a Jeep drove up and since it was going to town I had a swell ride in and got there in plenty of time to catch the train. The train was jammed and it was only because three of “my British buddies” kindly “squeezed up” to make room for me that I sat instead of standing all the way of a pretty long trip. I took out my book of detective stories and resumed reading where I left off on my last trip. The “Tommies,” though, were recounting their adventures in Norway and Iceland, whence they had recently returned to England. For a time—I read with one eye on the book and one ear on their conversation. However, what the one ear heard was entirely too intriguing to be shared with the book, whereupon I closed it and turned my frank attention to what they were saying. During a lull, I offered my “Yank” cigarettes and gum around. Over here, both are usually gratefully received by civilian and soldier alike, and this particular occasion was no exception. (Did I tell you about the time I absentmindedly took a stick of gum from my pocket while walking down a London Street, only to have a very well-dressed and respectable gentleman approach me with an almost fanatical gleam in his eye, and unashamedly ask for a piece of gum? I've often read of people “gaping in surprise [or wonderment],” but I think this was the first time in my life I was guilty of it. No kiddin’, Chippie, I was literally stupefied!) I only mention the incident to illustrate the state of mind of the average Englishman where “Yankee” gum is concerned. Indeed, it is rumored that an indispensable item of equipment of the “G.I. wolf” is a few packs of gum; seems to have the hypnotizing quality of catnip for the English lassies. Anyhow, to get back to where I was, from then on the attitude of the Tommies was one of eager cordiality, and when we parted at Liverpool Station a few hours later, it was almost a tearful occasion, so “thick” had we become. Having missed both breakfast and lunch [and supper the previous night], I was just about famished when I arrived at the Eagle Club. I straightway preceded (after I had checked my things) to get on the outside of a toasted cheese sandwich, a toasted peanut butter and jam sandwich and a cup of coffee. Feeling better, then, I preceded to walk around the corner, to the “Odeon,” where “Jane Eyre” is being featured. It goes without saying that I enjoyed it immensely. It is on the order of “Rebecca,” even if it doesn't approach that classic in worth. The suspense angle is its chief attraction, but the plot itself is not nearly as intriguing as was “Rebecca.” John Fontaine gives her usual excellent performance. Orson Welles is wonderfully cast as “Edward Rochester,” and while he is perfection itself in the morose and moody phases of his personality, he fails somehow to inspire in the audience the love and adoration that “Jane Eyre” evidently feels for him. (Or maybe I'm mistaken.) The afternoon was still young when I came out, so I hied myself back to the Eagle, ate a couple more sandwiches, and went directly to the “Warner,” where “This is the Army” is just starting its run. I enjoyed it ,of course, but it wasn't the wonder of wonders I had been led to expect. I've seen many musicals that I've enjoyed more. Back to the Eagle again for a bite and a bit of (am I kiddin’?) relaxation. After eating, (I forget what) I strolled down to the lounge, sank into one of those very comfortable easy chairs I once told you about, and listened and dreamed to the music of a very competent G.I. who was playing something by Chopin on piano. This pleasant interlude lasted for an hour or so. When I looked at the clock, finally, it said 9:00 o'clock. Whereupon I gathered up my overcoat and my small musette bag, which is ever-present (I carry soda, glass and spoon in it), and by the light of my torch (flashlight to you, Sweet) made my way to the U.G. at Leicester Sq. and thence to Russell Sq. and the Turkish bath. Chippie, how can I begin to describe the luscious feeling of well being I experience in that intense, but  oh-so-delicious, heat? In order to appreciate it fully, one would first have to put up with three weeks of mud and damp cold and that “unwashed feeling.” Never was I more thankful or more appreciative of the luxurious comforts of the bath. I lingered long in the hot room, reading the while the glorious and heartening news from the “Dnieper Bend.” When my very bones were pervaded with the delectable warmth, and after a briefer session in the “steam room,” I gave myself over to the capable ministrations of my old friend, the bewhiskered masseur. He preceded to wash and knead me into a pleasant state of drowsiness. After he had literally tucked me in and turned out the light, I lay for a long while thinking of you, my darling, and Adele and Mom and things too numerous and too intimate to mention. I remember, among other things, that I reminisced at length on some phases of our courting days, especially the chair behind the French doors at 4920. I remember a particular night in that connection—when an ivory pair of shoeless and stockingless limbs of heart-stirring perfection were, for the nonce, the delight and wonder of my universe. God, Chippie, but you were lovely that night. That night you made heaven seem very close. You have kept it close for me ever since, my darling. I recaptured the image of 4906 in all its warm color and well-loved familiarity. Then I mentally tried to rearrange the furniture, but failing to devise a happier arrangement, resorted to populating the living room with new accessories, such as a drum table (beside “my” chair), a “coffee table” (in front of the sofa), and a landscape in color to fill the empty frame above the fireplace. I even filled the white vase on the landing with fresh flowers. I think that's about where I fell asleep—no, the last thing I remember was trying your name on my lips just to hear the sound of it. Hearing my own voice utter your name brought me very close, Sweet, and feeling you close—was inspired in terms of endearment. I don't know how many times my lips whispered “I love you, Baby,” before sleep overtook me. 

This morning I woke feeling fresh and (clean for change). By 9:30 I was breakfasting at the Eagle Club. From there I went to the “Carlton” in Haymarket to “book” a seat for tomorrow evening’s showing of “For Whom the Bell Tolls.” By the way, are you familiar with the quotation that fathered the title? It goes something like this “—Ask not for whom the bell tolls.—it tolls for you and all mankind.” I like that, don't you Chippie? On the way over to Haymarket, which is only a short walk from Leicester Square, I passed  “Let's Face It” and “Lassie Come Home.” (Do I sound as though I have eyes only for the movies?  I'll admit it's far from untrue. On the other hand, it isn't strictly so.) After I had sweated out the queue for 20 minutes or so, I finally bought my ticket. All the way back, I was debating with myself which of the two pictures I would rather see. I finally decided on the latter. Nor was it an unhappy choice. “Lassie Come Home” is a sentimental story of a dog, (primarily) his master (Roddy McDowell) and a few other characters incidental to the story. It is a lovely story and a lovely picture. Being in Technicolor, the scenes have the quality of beautiful paintings in oil. A thoroughly entertaining and relaxing picture. If you see it, Honey, and I recommend it strongly for Mom as well, look out for the little girl who answers to the name of Priscilla. I don't remember where I ever saw a more beautiful child (And don't forget—I'm prejudiced!) 

From then (after the show), ’til now, I can tell you all my activities in one single sentence. I ate lunch at “Lyons Corner House” (more about that later), took the U.G. to Knightsbridge and the Hans Crescent, “booked” a bunk for the next five nights (hallelujah!), and commenced this letter—which brings me right up to date. At present, I am in the writing room where the radio is inducing an almost unbearable nostalgia in me by giving forth currently with The Andrews Sisters singing “Apple Blossom Time.” Before that—Judy Garland singing “For Me and My Gal,”—and before that Bing Crosby making me very blue indeed with “Stardust.” Pardon me, Sweet, while I go out and find myself a “crying towel,” I cry for you—I ain't singing! Hasta Manana, Carissima. 

Always, 

Your Phil 

P.S. Re that quote from “The Bell”—skip it—I was misinformed. Still—it does make sense, doesn't it? 

Post #266 - January 11, 1944 So You Met a Friend of Yale’s?

 

January 11, 1944 

Darling Mine,

 

Yours of the 22nd and 28th (Dec.) were unusually tender and sweet. They only make me love you all the more baby. I guess the sudden way in which I started off my letter about the fur coat surprised you. That's exactly how I felt and you're the only one who really knows how excited I am. That coat is a dead ringer for beaver, and most everyone thinks it is genuine beaver. I pressed all day and I'm glad I'm finished. Miss America got up at 5 this A.M. and I sure hated to get up. I put her on the toddy and then back to bed for another hour 'cause she was up much too early. She looked good today in the dress Ann gave her—the reddish one with the white collar. I've got lots of sewing to do this evening. I'm going to work for Miss Hahn from 1 to 5 tomorrow afternoon and Ruth will care for Adele. I washed my brown slack suit and gave it to the tailor to press ($0.40). So you met a friend of Yale’s? Sure is a small world. I'll send off some hankies and candy shortly. Only wish I were near to keep you warm on those freezing nights. It's very cold here, but the house is very warm. I love you 

Your Eve. 

Post #265 - January 10, 1944 That’s How Bad the Coal Situation Is and This is One of My More Prized Letters

 

January 10, 1944 

Darling Hubby,

Your V-mail of Dec. 29th arrived this morning. There was also a letter from Jack N. He was worried 'cause I haven't written for over two weeks. He expects his furlough Jan. 12th and said he would call me from New York. He wrote to me the same night I wrote to him, so he has probably received my letter by now. 

I washed a whole cellar of clothes this morning, cleaned the house and took Adele for a walk. Fay came over and wanted me to mind her baby for an hour. She doesn't have a drop of coal and was running about trying to get some. She might. That's how bad the coal situation is. I'm very tired and hope to hit the hay early. Adele looks well in her rose (pinafore style) dress. The weather continues frosty and I could stand having you as a bed-partner. If ever you're cold at night, just think of what I’d do if you were close enough—you’ll sizzle. I adore you, sweetheart. Kiss from Adele X. 

Your Eve 

January 10, 1944 

Darling Chippie,

Last night I was inveigled into a game before I could write, but I had every intention of writing afterwards. Unluckily, the power failed and we were left in the dark. There was nothing for it but to hit the hay early. Yesterday afternoon, mail call brought me a single letter—from Phil Strongin. You could have knocked me over with a feather! It seems he got all “steamed up” about Adele. So much so, that he was inspired to write her Daddy and tell him all about what a “sweet kid” she is. It goes without saying that this is one of my more prized letters both from a sentimental standpoint, and as a “collector’s item.” I'll bet Phil hasn't written a dozen letters in his life. Today I received two letters: Ruthie’s and Red’s. I was unusually busy today since I wanted to complete the payroll before leaving on furlough tomorrow. News worthy of the name is, as usual, lacking. Starting tomorrow, though, I hope to have plenty to talk about. You can depend on it, Sweet, that when I'm not doing something for an hour or two, I'll be writing to tell you about the last “excursion.” Furthermore, I don't intend to cheat you out of one iota of information as to my comings or goings, or my own peculiar impressions and reactions about everything. As I told you before, Sweet, I won't be able to mail my letters ’til I get back to camp, so be patient. I promise to make the “jack pot” worth waiting for. My dearest love to you and my other Chippie. My love to all. 

Your adoring Phil

Post #264 - January 8, 9, 1944 Adele Sure Does Love Paul and I Can Assure You It’s Mutual and I Have Every Hope of Seeing a Great Deal of You in 1944

 

Saturday, January 8, 1944. 

My Dearest, 

Received your V-mails of Dec. 13th and 30th today. Who said V-mail was regular?? I've already answered your questions, so I'll continue—

I went shopping today and bought a few of those “many things” I previously mentioned. I bought a padded seat (cost $0.59) for Adele’s toddy chair. She was quite thrilled with it. It's rose color oilcloth with figures of ducks and little girls on it. At Betty's suggestion, I bought Adele a set of underwear. It consists of a lightweight sleeveless undershirt and pair of snug fitting panties that snap on to the shirt with three snaps in the front and has elastic across the back. It was the only pair of pre-war style in stock, and since I do not care for the “drawstring” panties, I bought the one set (cost $0.85). I have almost a dozen pair of elastic top panties but they have a tendency to slide downward and become sloppy. The “snap-on” idea is neat, nice and comfortable, and perhaps I shall be able to get several pairs with buttons. The set I bought are size 3 and looks something like this (see drawing in letter above). 

I had an awful time keeping my stockings up without a girdle, so I got myself a garter belt (cost $1). It fits nicely, and boy did I need it! I also bought myself a nice peach colored cotton bra—cost $1.

I bought Adele a lovely pair of light blue corduroy overalls that had to be returned as they were too small. None of the stores have the larger sizes—they sell out before the merchandise has an opportunity to be properly arranged and displayed. I dislike Adele in overalls anyway. They aren't feminine and I think she looks like a little tramp. When she wears overalls, she always manages to get dirtier than ever. You ought to see her hands when she gets up from the floor after a good crawl. Adele is very observant. This morning, Mom put on a new apron. Whenever Adele sees anything new or wants something, she yells “wow-wow” and gets all excited. Mom had to let Adele pat it to give it her approval. Adele adores fur—any fur. When she first saw my galoshes, she made such a rumpus that I hardly knew what to do with her. She loves to pat the fur and calls it “wow-wow.” Mom takes her to the window to see the pigeons and says “perda, perda, perda” to sort of imitate the sound of the birds. Don't you think “Miss America” (as we sometimes call her) says it? She shore nuff does! In fact she walks over to the dining room window, hunts for the birds and yells “perda.” She likes to wriggle the key of the cellar door in its lock. She likes to open and shut most anything. 

After darn need breaking my neck to get your letter off in time last night, the darn thing was returned for six cents more postage. No more rushing for me. 

I've finished Ethel’s fascinator, all but the ruffle about the edge. It's very dainty and pretty. 

Oh yes, in addition to my aforementioned shopping, I bought some Kleenex and baby foods. I also did plenty of shopping for Mom on both 11th and Broad Streets (groceries, etc.) 

It was freezing cold today so I wore my fur coat. It's warm as toast. Ruth and Adele accompanied me to Broad Street. Adele goes wild every time she sees a live dog. She's so pleased and wants to pull its tail. She calls mom “bah-ba.” 

Mom received a check for $34 today from the Office of Dependency Benefits that bears Jack’s name and serial number. Remember I told you there was a plan to raise the allotment for all dependents? Well, the entire matter passed on October 26, and it looks as if Mom received her share for the past three months, as the raise is retroactive. We’ll know for sure soon enough. It was raised from $37 for one parent to $50. How they figure Mom’s is beyond me. That means they owe us $18.00 for three months, November, December and January. Grand total $54.00. When I get my big check, I hope to clear off all our debts (about $100) and raise my board to $30. I don't know yet what financial arrangements will be made when Goldie stops working (probably February or March). Mom doesn't know how they'll manage (about $40 per week). What did we—(or how did we) do it??? Phil, it always struck me that you thought I cared more for savings than spending. I hope I've corrected that thought in your mind. Yes, I do like to save, but I love to spend— when we have the means. I like to know that I'm saving something. It sort of eases my conscience, especially now that we have Adele and may someday have other children. 

Do you remember that Teddy bear coat my sister bought? Or didn't you see it? At any rate, you must know what teddy bear fur looks like. What I'm trying to get at is that they have teddy bear coats for kids like Adele in pink fur and blue trimming and vice versa with leggings (plain material and bonnet to match) and don't you think she’d look well in such an outfit? Rather than buy her a snowsuit, (I think snow suits look nicer on boys), I'd rather she have a coat, leggings and bonnet set. What do you say? I imagine they run fairly high. We'll see. 

Incidentally, sweet, there is something I would like very much to have—shall we say, as an anniversary gift?—a pin—one of those imitation gold with zircon colored stones and earrings to match. Something large and showy to go with the fur coat. I'd love to have a wrist watch that runs (the gold one is no good and my mom has given me permission to trade it in). I'd rather wait til after the war though, 'cause that's one item I want to buy with you, baby. I'm taking “time out” to tell you, darling, that I love you oh so much—God what I wouldn't give to know the feel of your arms for just a minute! It's been so long. Gosh, sweet, almost six whole months—half a year—we'll have to get married all over again. That ought to be lots of fun, and we even have a baby to begin with. Who’ll make it two? (let's skip that—huh?—for a few years at least) I’ll want you as much and as often as I can have you, and you'll need time to get well acquainted with Adele. 

Sunday, January 9, 1944

The Wyman (Chases—says Ethel) visited us for an hour this afternoon. They made such a fuss over Adele, but who wouldn't. She was wearing her little blue skirt with the Tyrolean trim, a white blouse, red socks and red bow. She looked good enough to eat. Even Ethel commented that she had lost her baby fat. Paul sat down on the step, whereupon Adele walked over and threw her arms around him. She sure does love Paul and I can assure you it's mutual. He adores her and treats her gently. Adele says “bye-bye” well. Her vocabulary: da-da—momma—bahba—wow-wow— bye-bye, pop, paper, sh, cis (for cissy) 

Whenever I sit at the vanity to makeup, Adele watches me intently. She is fascinated and when I'm all prettied up, she stares and stares at me. I had been promising myself that I would wash my hair all week and finally got around to it today. (Ruth, took Adele out for me). I cut the top of my hair a bit and set it. It looks very nice this evening. Myra called me—but she wanted to know something in connection with her parents allotment. She said that she would surprise me and visit shortly. My, my! Dot called. She is having a large part on Saturday, Jan. 22nd to celebrate Harold's birthday and it was an invite. She also asked me to tell you to send her a request for gum and marshmallows. She finally managed to get some for you. Don't forget. I told her that I thought Jack N. might be in Philly at the time, and since that happens to be his birthday, I did not know for sure if I could make it. In reply to your answer concerning the T4, I hope you will get it in March. It was six months between P.F.C. and T5, so don't let them fail you this time. Don't you think you are entitled to it? I do. Besides, I could use the extra money. I didn't understand the ending of one of your letters, which read as follows: “Your lover as always” (Courtesy Sgt. Trombetti) Copyright pending. Explanation requested— 

I neglected to mention that Ethel, liked the fascinator immensely. I've got a good amount completed on Moms. 

Two years ago two big things happened—your recall and the change at S&D. Remember: A year ago, you were by my side, baby, and I was so happy. Today— But there will come a day—soon, I hope. 

You asked me to take a picture. I will when I have sufficient funds on hand. I'd like to take one with Adele, too, so that you may have a good picture of us together. I've tried many times to get film for snapshots—it's impossible. I'd like to have a picture of Adele standing alone. I wish I had an indoor camera. There are so many candid poses of Adele that would warm your heart. I'm afraid you'll have to do with my descriptions for the time. 

When Adele particularly likes the food she's being fed, she will kick her feet against the chair and sort of rock back and forth. When Ruth brought her in today—she cried. Why?—to be put on the potty, of course. It's slow, but sure. I've spanked her on occasion for going all over the rug and she is afraid to do it on the rug. She used to try to wipe it off with her hands. She plays on the keys of the piano nicely and when I'm upstairs, it seems so funny to hear that music. 

I appreciate your “longies,” sweet, and try my best to reciprocate. It may not be as exciting as your experiences, but it is the news I know you would like to read. From time to time, I'll try to make up longies too. I'm not going to mind putting $0.12 on this letter 'cause it is a big one. 

Today I had a terrific urge for you physically—so I took a nap. Xmas and New Years left some effect on me. I know how to rid myself of those feelings, though I do not wish, as you do, that I could satisfy them. Talk, talk, talk—don't worry, we'll be able to do whatever we choose when this is all over. Every heartbeat of mine is for you, sweet Phil, every second and minute is you coming closer to 

Your Eve 

January 8, 1944

Beloved Evvie, 

I just finished a letter to Jack N. which I am routing through you as you requested a while back. And now I'll get on with the “more” I promised you yesterday. First, about the “four Mrs. Strongins.” A very good snap of all of you, but it was your sweet smile that moved me most. I think you look exceptionally well, sweet, and not one bit “peaked,” as in some of your recent pictures. Mom looks just the same, bless her heart, and Goldie and Gloria leave nothing to be desired. Incidentally, now that the secret is out, I feel safe in commenting on Goldie's pregnancy. I don't know why everyone was so surprised. I know I wasn't. After all, those things are more or less expected of married women, aren't they? What did you expect me to say, Sweet, beyond congratulations to Goldie and Harry and the earnest wish that Adele's cousin will be as “geruten” as she is? As nominal head and veritable “patriarch” of one of the two branches of the Strongin clan, I take an extra satisfaction for the fact that our brood is increasing by leaps and bounds. I almost feel the urge to say to Harry and Goldie “well done my children.” I know the practical disadvantages of another baby in the house are causing you some concerns, Sweet, but I believe by the time the “new one” is born, we will have found a solution. So don't fret yourself over a problem that is only, as yet, incipient.

You drew a very clear picture of Adele's first unassisted steps, and consequently I can't feel that I have been entirely deprived on this momentous occasion. I daresay by the time you read this, mere walking will be a commonplace to Adele and her doting constituents. 

I must confess that the details of our engagement night were but dimly remembered, until you recalled it in your letter of the 23rd. Yes, baby, I certainly do think I got hooked “good.” As a matter of fact, I can't conceive how I possibly could have got hooked better. Sweet of you to remember the details, darling. 

What do you mean you “entertain no hopes of seeing me in 1944?” I don't know what lies beneath your pessimistic outlook, but I assure you only 50% of “us” feels that way. I have every hope of seeing a great deal of you in 1944. Are you still afraid to hope, darling? I must admit my hopes for peace by Xmas were dictated by my desire for an early end to the war and the need to reassure you, but I will be very much surprised if the European phase isn't over in 1944. Even our leaders, such as General Eisenhower, are not averse to committing themselves that far (if we can believe the newspapers). 

Glad you like the sketch by Laz, Chippie, and thanks for the compliment in this connection. Glad, too, that you are through with the dentist—until April. Don't wait for me to “push” you then. 

Honey, I've thought time and again about my former reluctance for dancing and I could kick myself for every time I turned you down, but I have seen the error of my ways, and I'll never neglect you that way again. Forgiven? 

I bet Mom was tickled when she officially became an American. She certainly has a lot to be proud of. Not everyone can lay claim to being both Russian and American with sons in the American Army and nephews in the Russian army. Incidentally, I recently noted that her hometown (Bobriusk) is just beyond the advancing Red Armies, and by the time you receive this will probably be once again in Russian hands. 

Last night, after I finished writing to you, I indulged in a game of “stud” with the guys, who were clamoring for me to get in the game all the while I was writing. They should have saved their breaths, ’cause it cost them exactly ten bucks before the evening was out. Oh well, one must be sociable, dontcha know? 

Today I made out my own furlough together with four others, and I'm waiting for the 11th when I take off. One place on the form reads “Authorized to visit ______.” Lord, how I wished I could plunk Phila. right on that line! 

That'll have to be all for now, Sweetheart. How long is it since I've kissed you? 5-1/2 months? Then it's high time I resumed the practice. A long sweet kiss for you, darling, the same for Adele and my love to all. My best to the neighbors. I love you, my Eve. 

Yours,

Phil

P.S. Tell Ruthie to send the package.