Post #302 - February 22, 1944 Dr. Gayl Moved to Elkins Park Today and The Familiar and Attractive Front of My Home and Yours, Baby, is Very Good to Look Upon and A Letter From Jack Strongin in New Guinea

 

February 22, 1944

My Own, 

Out of v-mail and not having much to say am resorting to this stationery. Adele’s temperature was normal all day and generally she is vastly improved. Her gums must pain terribly, as she got blotchy (a few reddish spots on her face—a teething rash) and was cranky beyond management. I made her take two naps, which helped immensely. When I put her to sleep the second time about 1:30, I was so dead tired that I flopped across the bed and slept soundly for two whole hours. Adele had rested fairly well during the night, giving me a chance to catch up on my rest during the day. She was unusually trying hence the tiredness. I awoke feeling totally rested and wide awake for the first time in a few weeks. It rained all day and was dark and dreary. I did a lot of cleaning and little things. The house looks neat and clean. 

The politicians have arranged to register voters in their various sections tomorrow and I hope to straighten out my registration once and for all. Mom and Goldie will register, too. 

Doctor Gayl moved to Elkins Park today. He had moved his offices earlier and now has changed his residence. 

Goldie gave me the enclosed prayer and if you insert the correct sex where necessary, you'll find it very beautiful—or so I think. 

Al had a tooth pulled and had a hemorrhage that is keeping him in bed two days. There was no delivery of mail today and I'm looking forward to tomorrow's mail. I love you, my precious Phil!

Your Eve

February 22, 1944

My Own Darling, 

Yesterday afternoon, just as I was finishing up my work for the day, your two letters of the 2-3 and 4 February arrived—together with Jack N’s of 25 January. All three letters were delectable in the extreme. So gratifying where they, in fact, that I spent the rest of the evening reading and re-reading them. Then, too, there were the 16 snapshots to be considered—and re-considered—and re-re-reconsidered, etc. Altogether, I think I have a pretty good excuse for not writing last night, eh, Chippie?

About the snapshots: No mere are words of mine, can tell you or make you appreciate how very welcome they were (and are). As pictures, I agree with you that they left much to be desired. You didn't say who took them, but I presume it was Pete. I want to thank the person responsible for all the trouble he took on my behalf and I want him to know that I appreciate his good intentions, but I think he would make better pictures if he reckoned with the glare of the sun, looked out for bad shadows and held the camera just a little steadier when snapping. As I said before, sweet, the pictures as such are pretty poor; but as a reflection of you and all my dear ones in your present circumstances and environment, and as yardstick by which to measure the progress and development of the punkin, they left very little to find fault with. I thought everyone looked in the pink. Evidently, rationing has had very little effect on any of you. The punkin is very sweet and beautiful in most of the snaps, and it did her daddy's proud heart good to see how well-formed she is, and how fair of face and mien, and how she stands on her own sturdy little legs. My Chippie looks very smart, indeed in her new attire. The fur coat is just as I pictured it—and very good looking. The suit is very natty and most becoming. As far as I can see (but I must admit—not very clearly) you look very well, my darling, and on the whole, taking everything into consideration, I am very, very proud of you and the punkin. It is difficult, from the pictures, to distinguish clearly just how Mom is looking these days, but her well-loved features are readily recognizable and brought a warm response in my heart. Harry and Goldie look fit and ready for anything. It just struck me (and I don't mean to be facetious), that they're certainly a couple of “solid citizens” and shouldn't experience any difficulty whatever in their coming ordeal. Let’s hope the newcomer turns out to be another “solid citizen.” Somehow I just can't picture them producing anything but a boy. As a matter of fact, if I get an announcement reading, “it's a girl,” I'll have a hell of a time getting myself to believe it. Gloria, the only other member of the family I haven't mentioned, was very sweet and demure in her “little girl” dress. I don't know why the neighbors failed to get their pictures taken, but I spotted Betty and Sarah in the background, and Natalie, of course, posed with Adele. “Nanna” is certainly getting to be a very attractive young miss, and her added poundage is becoming. Last, but far from unimportant, is 4906. The familiar and attractive front of my home and yours, baby, is very good to look upon after these many months, and many's the time I wished myself there. 

I should have known you would remember St. Valentine's Day, sweetheart, and I feel a fool for having forgotten it myself. Then, to make matters worse, I implied in my last letter that Ruthie had remembered where you had forgotten. My humble apologies, Chippie, for having so misjudged you. As for my own defection, I can only say that I remind you each day that you are my one and only “valentine.” In answer to your clever little verse: 

I've read much better poetry, 

—With “meter,” “rhyme” and “symmetry” 

I've heard more honeyed words than thine 

—Still, you are my valentine. 

Your intention of buying a gold bracelet for the punkin reminds me of something I had in mind a while back, but forgot to communicate to you. I was thinking that for very little cost you could have my school ring melted down and made into a “baby” ring. The school ring (as such) doesn't mean much to me and I really wouldn't miss it, especially since I've grown accustomed to being without it. You might get an estimate and let me know the particulars. By the way, I still don't know what, if anything, I bought her for her birthday. My plexiglas watch crystal for your and Snuffy’s information, like Bon-Ami “hasn't scratched yet.” That color combination you have selected for Mom’s sweater is very attractive. (I can just picture it.) 

You ask me again if your letters to me are censored. I've already advised you that they are not—so if you have anything real “fresh” to say, don't be bashful. 

Jack's letter of the 25th January is a masterpiece of sympathetic writing. Evidently, he was deeply moved by your reception. As for my being jealous of Jack, I am happy to report that I feel no vestige of that unhappy emotion on his account. What I said before in that connection, though, still holds true, so please be careful, will you baby? I will say that I envy Jack the rare privilege of having you confide your tears to his shoulder, but the knowledge that they were shared in my behalf is even more gratifying and I don't mind confessing that the contemplation of the little tableau brought a lump to my throat, too. I can't make up my mind whether we're blessed or cursed with the gift of sentimentality, but certainly it is that that quality in us engenders a host of conflicting emotions. I say “we” because I place myself in the category of sentimentalists together with you and Jack. 

Since I returned from London the other day, I haven't done anything out of the ordinary run-of-the-mill chores. My work in the Orderly Room is keeping me increasingly busy, but once in awhile I catch up with my work and I have an hour or so to kill. That's how come I'm able to not walk. An hour or so to “kill.” That's how come I'm able to knock off a letter of this size. 

You want to know if I care for Tuna or Sardines, etc. Ordinarily, yes, but under the circumstances—no. You see, in order to really enjoy something like that, I'd have to procure mayonnaise, bread, etc. and that's a little out of the question. Really, Ev, I miss those things very little. We are uncommonly well fed here, and now that we are getting ice cream regularly (every Tuesday), I don't want for a thing as far as food goes. Of course, the shortage of chocolate candy is still acute, and I, for one, rarely get my fill of it. So next time you send off a package, don't waste any space whatever that will hold even a lick of some sort of chocolate. If you really want to earn my undying gratitude, you could do so by sending me a box of Milky Ways, Mars bars, Oh Henry, or something of the sort. Plain chocolate, such as those large Hershey bars or Nestle's are especially welcome. You needn't worry your pretty head anymore when you are trying to decide what to put in a package for me. Just send any of the above as frequently and as copiously as you possibly can. You can advise all the other interested parties to that effect. If there is anything at all which I cannot obtain over here, I will ask for it specifically. Finally, remember that it takes some six or seven weeks for packages to get here, so mail early and often. I thank you! 

The snapshots, while they serve admirably to allay my hunger for the sight of you and the cherub and the family, do not fill or lessen my desire for a real picture. In short, when do I get that Clare Pruett picture? You have been putting me off for two months now, Ev, and I feel I have a right to be impatient for some concrete evidence of your good intentions. Now—how's about it? 

And now it's time for supper and that ever-lovin’ ICE CREAM. Hope it's chocolate tonight. 

A hasty “au revoir,” my darling, and a lingering kiss for you. A great big hug for the punkin—and my love to all. 

Your adoring 

Phil 

February 22, 1944

My dear G.I. Brother,

Received your letter in which you gave me somewhat of a reprimand for not writing you a lengthy letter. I can assure you, dear brother o mine, that it's no fault of mine. I wrote you a long epistle, in detail, a little over a month ago, and it was one of my best compositions. However, it is quite possible that it was lost. After all, anything could happen to it between here and where you are stationed. I'm presuming that that letter will not reach you, so will tell you in this piece of scribe just what is cooking here in tropical Guinea. My outfit is a detachment of Headquarter Company. We have a very nice area and our tents, although not luxurious, are quite comfortable. There are four G.I.’s to each tent. All tents are uniform. The furnishings consist of four canvas cots with mattress and two blankets, four improvised foot lockers, table (center of tent), Gasoline lamp, and a wash stand at the rear of the tent. All tents have wooden floors and mosquito nets over every bunk. 

We are able to obtain from the supply room, Bomb sprays (insecticide) and insect repellent whenever needed. You can be sure that we take every precaution to avert getting Malaria. At every dinner we have an officer check to see that all the boys take their atabrine. We have Revelie every morning (excluding Sundays) at 5:25 A.M. and breakfast at 6:00 A.M. Breakfast usually consists of cold storage eggs, bacon, stewed fruit and coffee. Some days we have pancakes. After breakfast, we prepare our tents for inspection. By that time it is 7:30 A.M. and we go to our respective jobs. I was a P.X. warehouse man up until a few days ago and now I'm doing office work for P.X. supplies. I can't tell you just what type of clerical work it is, for it is quite confidential. We quit work at 4:30 P.M. (one hour off for lunch) and chow at 5 P.M. Sometimes we have extra duty after dinner. Usually my leisure moments are from 6 P.M. to 11 P.M. At 6 P.M. I go down to the stream to bathe and take a swim after which, I write letters and all my time after writing is spent sketching portraits of the fellows here, going to shows, playing table tennis, and making souvenirs from discarded shells and Aussie coins. Lights go out at 10 P.M. and so ends a day in New Guinea. The chow here is excellent considering the conditions here. We usually have ice cream and pie (your favorite dish) on Sundays. The climate is tropical, hot during the day, and cool evenings. Cleanliness is absolutely necessary in this part of the world, where diseases are plenty. We kid around with the natives, but close contact with them is taboo as they are a diseased ridden lot. Here are a few native words and translations: Kai Kai (pronounced Ky Ky) for food, Mary, when referring to a girlfriend or wife and Pom Pom for intercourse. The natives here practice polygamy, for they can have more than one wife. One wife costing them 1 pig. They are very friendly and have a great hatred for Japs. They’d just as soon kill a Jap as to look at him. The natives are doing a good share of the work here and are certainly doing their part to get this darn war over with with our side victorious. It is not rare to see members wearing G.I. apparel. Just the other day I saw a native use a G.I. overseas cap for a handbag. 

Oh yes, Phil, the natives are of the Fuzzy Wuzzy type. They are called “Fuzzy Wuzzies,” for they have long fuzzy hair. Here's a rough sketch of one. 

In my next letter I will make a good sketch in pencil. I can't send you any sketches as I give them to the fellows who pose for them. So far I have made about 30 sketches of the fellows here (one hour sketches) and certainly have improved. I visited a battlefield and honestly, Phil, the booys had a very difficult job driving the Japs out sometime ago. The jungle is very dense and you can't see what is ten feet ahead of you and realizing the Jap were expertly camouflaged, they had to fight an unseen enemy. It's really tough fighting in this type of terrain, but the infantry is doing an excellent job under adverse conditions. Hoping that this letter will satisfy you, I remain 

Your Loving “Kid” Brother

Pvt Jack

P.S. I'm enclosing our Newspaper, “The Guinea Gold” 

Post #301 - February 21, 1944 Dr. Gayl Only Charged Me $2 Instead of the Usual #3 per Home Visit

 

February 21, 1944

 

My dearest sweetheart, 

I did well today. Received three letters from you, sweet, those of 10 and 11 Feb. and v-mail of the 12th, also, a letter from Syd, one from brother Ed and one from Gloria. 

I have very little comment to make on your letters, sweet. They were a great source of relaxation and contentment and made me feel all warm inside. “Turn over please.” (I'll hit you!) I called Dot to straighten her out on the letter situation. Snuff got his 1-A on Saturday, so it won't be long now. Harold hasn't been well either. Having the same trouble as Adele. 

Last night Adele’s fever soared to 103° and I decided to call Doctor Gayl first thing in the morning. I have him come to the house to examine her. This morning her temperature was 101-1/2. I woke the Doc at 7:45 and he said he would be here sometime during the morning. I had a terrible night, getting up every hour and a half or so. Guess I don't have to tell you how I felt this morning. Nevertheless, the Doc came about 11:30. Adele’s temp. had dropped to 99°—or just about normal. He asked me to bring her down. He hadn't seen her for almost 3 months and his comments were as follows: “My, but she's grown and so nicely, too. She's just right now (meaning weight. He dislikes chubby babies—that is—overly chubby as Adele once was). And she is so pretty! Your daddy just ought to see you now.” He couldn't stop raving. His diagnosis: Teething (very bad—all gums swollen to almost double) and a cold. He said the fever usually accompanies such difficult teething, and that I must accustom myself to the idea. (I am—but I called the Doc to satisfy everyone else.) He said it would be a few days before she is normal and I'll have to “string along.” He only charged me $2 instead of the usual $3 per home visit. He advised me to follow my present course of treatment: cough syrup (it's a raspberry mixture that she likes), nose drops, aspirin, niter, to rub her gums, and an enema when needed. Adele looked at him and said “hm,” as if to say “who the deuce are you?” 

When I put Adele to sleep (her afternoon nap), I dashed to Broad Street to mail your package. I couldn't find the time to mail it and made up my mind to do it today without fail. I'm almost out of air-mail envelopes and when I asked for them while at the P.O., I was told that they are not printed anymore and could only be obtained from those P.O.s that now have them on hand. From there I proceeded to the bank, whereupon I bought $100 bond with the $75. 

In a letter to the folks received today, Ed said that he would be unable to see you (you probably have heard from him yourself), and I doubt very much if he will continue to be stationed in England. His APO—230 is a new one to me. I never heard of an APR beginning with a two heretofore. 

Syd told of a terrific snowstorm they had had in Italy and said he still doesn't know how their tents survived it. I had asked him about a furlough to the States, as he has served over 18 months overseas and he has no hopes whatsoever. He told me not to believe what I see in the newspapers unless it is an act of Congress and then to be doubtful. 

Gloria wrote that Jack has some forty odd dollars to send her and is experiencing difficulty in sending it. He suggested to her that she withdraw some of their savings and buy herself a diamond ring. He sure is practical? I know Gloria saving her allotment $50 per month and all that she can manage from her $30 (clear) per week. Jack has promised send her money, too. She told me that the least they save is $100 per month, which isn't bad at all. I doubt, though, whether they have more than about $1200 and since they have to open house and want to have a child immediately, that won't go very far. I think Jack is still very young and dreamy, as even Glo said she thought it highly impractical at this time, not to mention the sky high prices on diamonds. 

Don't ask me why I write all this. You know why—it takes up room and makes a longie. Isn't that what you want? Incidentally, I'm glad you like the new stationery. Whaddya mean “ration you to one sheet a day”? Even if I run out of sheets and still have envelopes I can use plain white paper. I have almost 300 sheets and 150 envelopes on hand—three orders. I don't like to use it when I'm writing an unusually long letter, as it weighs too much out and the postage would be too high. Mom can’t understand why you want me to send so much candy when you know full well that you get a heartburn with each piece. 

Sorry to hear Red was back in the hospital and sincerely hope he is all well by the time this reaches you. England doesn't seem to agree with him as I see it. 

I'm wondering if you made the trip to London on the 17th, only to be disappointed once more, or whether Ed’s letter reached you before then. 

Men with two and three children are being pulled up in the draft of late and males  are becoming “mails only.” 

The weather was lovely today and if you smelled real hard you could smell Spring coming. It doesn't get dark until almost 8 and I find myself wanting you more each evening. As we near our 7th month of separation, I find it harder and harder to be alone. Since I saw Jack N., I've been “remembering” too often and it's more than I can take at times. I know that I will never accustom myself to be without you. How can I, when I'm part of you? I miss you more with each second, minute, hour, day, week, and month, and love you more deeply. Oh, Phil, darling, it hurts so much! Last year we wrote of our hopes to be together on our third anniversary and here we are further apart. I'm almost afraid to write in connection with our fourth, not so much that I'm afraid to hope, because I feel we won't. Perhaps we will be together in ’45 and I don't know what I'll do if we aren't. Phil——

This isn't going to do either of us any good, so I'll sign off now, sweet. I am 

Your Eve

February 21, 1944 

Dear Phil, 

I realize that I haven't written for some time, but you really must excuse the oversight. 

By now, you probably know that my family and I were out to see your family. I must confess once more that your daughter is really something to be proud of. Of course, as far as boys are concerned, my son is tops. 

We really had a very pleasant day. Adele wasn't quite herself as she is cutting teeth as Ev probably told you. 

My mother was up at my aunts in Oak Lane so she stopped over too. My cousin and his wife picked us up at 7:15 P.M. and took us to 36th and Market. 

The weather here has really been “sompin.” Last week we had snow and today it was like summer. I had the baby out on a sled and he really enjoyed himself. 

I'm waiting to get a fairly good picture of the baby to send you. The last two letters I received from you are dated Sept. 21st and Jan. 23rd. Nothing in between. I've just called my mother's and said you wrote 4. Page 2 letters in-between. Ev just called my mother’s and said you wrote four letters in between. 

Please Phil answer this letter right away and send me a request. I have about 14 boxes of gum and some candy to send you. Please let me know if there is anything else you need. 

You probably notice that I'm overdoing myself in this letter. I'm just getting into practice. Snuff received his 1-A and I want to get into the habit of newsy letters. 

The paper continuously has articles to write V-mail to the boys overseas and that is why you get them from me. Of course, if I have too much news for a V-mail, then I write regular mail. 

I must confess that neither Snuff or I was the least bit upset over his 1-A rating. We have been reconciled to this fact for so long that it was no shock. It will probably be a bigger shock to me after he leaves, as the thought of being alone cannot be realized until it is an actual fact. 

I wish you could see Harold. He really is precious. He has platinum blonde hair and blue eyes. Right now he has seven front teeth and two molars. He walks alone since he is 10 months old and has quite a vocabulary for one so young. He really is an alert youngster and picks up things very quickly. 

My thoughts of you are always such pleasant ones and I keep looking forward to the day when we have won this war and we will all be living normal lives once more. 

There really isn't much more I can tell you, as I lead a very uneventful life. 

Marcie is down in North Carolina with Bernie. She is going to remain with him as long as she can. 

Please answer soon and send me the request. 

As ever, 

Dot and Snuff 

Post #300 - February 19, 20, 1944 I Feel Frustrated, Lonely, Helpless and Darn Close to Heartbreak and Please, Chippie, No More V-Mail!

 

February 19, 1944

Phil, darling, 

The check for $75, along with your v-mail of Feb. 11 reached me this morning. Need I say how delighted I was to receive them? I'm sorry to hear my mail is held up again and I'm sure you've hit the jackpot by now. 

My cold has disappeared completely. My period is late this time, as I was due yesterday. I feel a bit “under the weather” as I usually do at such times. 

Adele took a turn for the worse by running a temperature of 102°. Her hoarseness has cleared and is almost gone. Her nose still runs and runs. Her stomach was a bit upset and an enema took care of that. I've been giving her aspirin (crushed on a teaspoon of water) and alcohol rubdowns to bring down the temperature. She hasn't eaten all day (who could) and has been cranky, wimpery and annoyed. She lays her head in the crook of my neck and sort of moans like a grown up. Phil, dear, it's so hard to express my feelings at such times. Tension grips me. I don't have a desire in the world. I don't want to eat or walk or sit or talk. I want you—only you. I feel frustrated, lonely, helpless and darn close to heartbreak. If God only knew the extent of my yearning for you, he’d send you scurrying home. No one seems to satisfy me then, not even the Moms. I always feel that way when Adele is ill. Adele would just about break your heart (as if I had to tell you of a kid’s suffering after seeing it in England). She is reddish with fever, hot and clammy to the touch, her eyes great, pools of loneliness and helplessness, looking to me for relief of her misery, cranky,  irritated, making a low moaning sound. She's fast asleep at the moment. (Thank God) after an extremely restless afternoon. 

Adele is becoming so attached to me that she won't be left alone a minute. If I go out of the house with my coat on she haunts the windows, looking and calling for “Momma”! I should be flattered, but I'm not. I don't care for kids that are attached to a mother's apron strings and besides, it's not good for either daughter or mother. She adores the grandmas yet won't stay alone with them. That shows how clearly a father's love and devotion is needed for a normal child. Sometimes I'm dead sure she knows you and misses you as I do. Of course she does! 

My right shoulder has been troubling me for some time. I never really noticed it as the pain was slight and seldom. Lately, however, my shoulder feels wrenched, sprained and in certain positions I get sharp breath-holding pains. At first I thought it was a cold and it may be (if you remember your shoulder). To be sure, I made an appointment with Doctor Gayl for Tues. morning, at which time I also aim to have Adele examined. I over-exercise my right arm to an extreme by the following: lots of letter writing, knitting (I used to feel it when typing continually, especially at Miss Hahn’s) and most important of all, carrying Adele. I'm sure she weighs a good 30 lbs., if not more, and I do carry her a great deal with only my right arm. At times, I feel that one shoulder is higher than the other from the weight. I had hoped her walking would have improved by now, but she does not have balance and consequently, I do not trust her to do certain things. She likes to be held and cuddled, and I do my best, though I do feel it too much for me. She's so lovable and pretty! I'm sure it's nothing at all, just overly active as I've said, and I'll take care of it—never fear. I don't even know why I mentioned it, except, perhaps that it takes space and makes a “longie.” 

I have a feeling (Dr. Gayl knows so) that Adele is about to acquire more teeth. The molars are the hardest and most painful to cut. When I call him to express my fears, he reacts (or so I believe), as if it were perfectly natural and that he has many similar calls. In a way I'm glad of the fever, for a cold without fever isn’t normal, and naturally, anything not normal is not good. I feel that the fever is a crisis. Once passed you are on the road to recovery. After all, Adele hasn't been well all week.

What gets me is this: No matter how ill she is, she always remembers to say “sh” when she has to “go.” I can't get over it. I know that her “rear warmings” were not in vain and I don't feel badly about administering them. Quite the opposite—I can see where they have taught her—say what you will. You must be stern with a baby, no matter how it hurts you. Of course, this doesn't apply to all babies. 

I think I ought to change the subject about now. Harry is working (he’s on the night shift this month) and Mom and Goldie are at Ethel's. They had promised to go and didn't want to back out. That, sweet, leaves me all alone and I'll bet you don't know my thoughts at the moment—NOT MUCH! To hold you would be a blessing—or maybe just to hear your well-loved voice—

I must change the subject, baby, or I'll just go to pieces. 

We’ve had freezing cold weather all week. Goldie visited her doctor yesterday and has gained 5 lbs. all together so far. She is halfway through her sixth month. Considering her build and weight, this is “carrying well.” She isn't small, can only wear her maternity dresses, and eats as little as possible. Nevertheless, she is doing fine. The doctor have her permission to make a trip home. 

Ethel has anywhere from 4 to 6 weeks. She’ll be taking the carriage any day. I'm going to buy Adele a regular stroller carriage. Most kids use them til they are 3 or 4 yrs. old. You know, a regular sitting carriage. Its use, primarily, is to transport a child a long distance, one that his little feet are not accustomed to traveling til he is old enough to “take it.” All metal carriages are back (Thank God again), and I hope to get one. Some of them have backs that tilt to permit the child to recline if he wishes to sleep. I can't put Adele to sleep in Ethel's carriage, as big as it is, for Adele has grown and does not fit properly when lying prone. 

Did I tell you I finished reading “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” It's the sort of book you would enjoy, I'm sure, so if you can get your hands on it, read it. It's downright funny in places and I read several of the side-splitting passages to Mom and we both laughed and laughed. By the way, here are some jokes Rae told us: What can Jello do that you can't do? “Come” in six delicious flavors. An Indian, divorcing his wife, said to the Judge: I come, she come, baby come, HOW come? Eleanor Roosevelt went to a beauty parlor for a going over and when she returned her husband, said, “Why Eleanor, you look downright beautiful, I must phone the beauty shop and thank them.” The owner of the shop answered the call and the reply to Mr. Roosevelt's query of “how did you do it?” was: I grafted a piece of skin from my a-- and put it on her face. Now kiss my a--. I'm tired of kissing yours. (Don't tell this one to a Republican.) 

This pen gets worse and worse and I can't get a new one anywhere around here. I'll get one one of these days, I swear. My letters look so sloppy when they could be so neat. 

I ordered a box of personalized stationary like mine for Ruth (she likes it very much) for a sort of graduation gift. 

Our Jack mentioned something about “a bracelet and how Mom liked it” in his latest letter. He must have sent it while in Australia, but we've never received it. Guess it takes a couple of months. 

I'm just about “writ” out as you say, honey. Always leave room to say a fond “I adore you, angel, give you a sound kiss. 

Your Eve 

February 20, 1944

My Darling, 

Back in camp—and back to the old routine. First, I want to complete the London letter. I'm trying to remember how far I got. That's right—I told you everything that happened up to the time I started to write. Well, when I finished, I stopped in the dining room at Hans Crescent and had a snack. Then I went next door to the annex and found my bunk and hit the hay. I slept ’til 9:30 the following morning, at which time I rose, dressed, and went off to the Eagle Club for breakfast. I was eating and reading a paper, when, on glancing through the movie ads, I happened to notice a new picture was showing at the Plaza. It was “Hostages,” with L. Rainer Wm. Bendix, Paul Lukas and a few others that sounded like a good cast. I decided to see it. By the time I got there, it was 11 o'clock. 

The main reason I wanted to see this one was because I always admired Louise Rainer, and it was a long time since I had seen her. I was terribly disappointed in her. She is just a shade of the radiant beauty she once was. She looks like she has been through hell. Her face is drawn and pinched, and there are ugly bags beneath her great black eyes. To make matters worse, the makeup man did in atrocious job on her lips, creating a “false” line that was almost nauseating in its transparency. Her acting, though a bit over-done, was serious and not too hard to take, but her insufficiency of charm was too noticeable and spoiled her performance completely. Outside of that, it is a fairly good picture, and entertaining in its way. Wm. Bendix, as usual, steals every scene in which he appears. When the show was over, I came back to the Eagle and had lunch. When I finished, it was about 2 o'clock, so I parked myself in a nice, comfortable chair in the lounge and preceded to catch up on the news until I must go to the station. I had only been reading about 15 minutes, when I looked up to see “Junior” Crossman smiling down at me. So we gabbed until I had to leave. The trip back was comfortable and uneventful. I still had my trusty pocket edition of detective stories with me and I amused myself by reading them. Arriving in camp, I found I was very hungry, so I stopped at the Snack Bar for a couple of sandwiches, cakes and a Coke. Feeling better, then, I started up the road towards the barracks. But the night was pitch black and I had forgotten to take my torch along, so I literally crept all the way, stepping into the ankle-deep mud at the side of the road at every tenth step. Finally, after many misadventures, I managed to gain the warmth and cheeriness of the hut. It was almost like coming home. This morning I was up bright and early 'cause I was anxious to get my mail. There were your two V-mails of the 7th and 9th Feb., A letter from Ed with his new address, a Valentine from Ruthie (and what do you say to that, Chippie?) and a V-mail from Dottie (also 7 Feb). Please, Chippie, no more V-mail! Even if you can't fill more than a page, write a letter. It's gotten so I have developed a positive antipathy for V-mail. You always seem to be in a hurry to dash off the inconsequentialities you invariably cram them with. Makes me feel I'm not considered worthy of a little more of your time and effort. I know this isn't true, Sweet, but that's the way they make me feel. I know I have been guilty in the past of the same “misdemeanor,” but believe me, I only did so when I had no alternative. I even dislike writing V-mail and make it a point not to whenever I have a glimmer of an idea as to what to write. 

I read through those 5 letters I have been promising to answer, and while I would love to return some of the tender sentiments that literally melted me with their fervent words of praise and endearment, time doesn't allow it tonight, and I thought I would answer a few of your queries and doubts. The passing of Maurice Topolsky was a great shock to me. My heart goes out to his family, but I hesitate to write my condolences to them for fear of making fresh again, a pain that time will have blunted a little. I can imagine, Sweet, why you broke down at the news. It was very good of Mrs. Benis to invite you and Adele to spend some time with them this coming summer. But don't think seriously about it just yet, Honey. If I'm home by that time, we certainly will consider it—but not until then. ‘Nuff said? Then you wanted to know if I could use some razor blades. I certainly can, Sweet, although I never thought to mention it. Be sure they are double-edged though, 'cause I'm using the G.I. Gillette razor now. You might inform Dottie, too, she asked the same question. 

And now, Baby, it's time for “lights out”—and I must say goodnight once more. (Wish I could “roll over” after that with the comforting thought that when I I wake up in the morning I could roll back to see you sleeping beside me—for me to kiss awake),—remember? Remember how I loved you then? That's how I feel about you now. I love you so much my Evvie! 

Love to all—a kiss for Adele from 

Phil 

February 20, 1944 

Dearest Hubby, 

Adele's temperature dropped to 100° and she is somewhat better. I got unwell last night (one day late) and was thankful that I was able to rest most of the night. Adele had me on the “go” all day and I'm kinda tired this evening. 

Harry’s place gave his section a new shift. They will work (as usual) and get Mondays instead of Sundays off. Today the new business started. 

At supper time, Adele threw up all over the hi-chair and my blue wool dress. We have company for dinner this evening—Mr. and Mrs. Bader (Mrs. Snyder to you). Mrs Bader made Adele a cotton pleated skirt with suspenders of a heavy material with large blocks of various colors. The plaid consists of white, red, navy and green off-red, off-blue, off-green squares and is quite attractive. She gave Mom two guest towels. They talked about old times all the afternoon. Mrs. B. looked very well in a dark purple dress, a black Persian lamb coat, hat and muff. 

Time for my, “sweeter thoughts,” baby mine, as there is little to write of today. I understand my brother Ed is being transferred and the folks are quite worried. Sure, do hope everything will be alright. He's so young—19 on Feb. 26. I adore you, sweetheart mine. A kiss from Adele and 

Your Eve

Post #299 - February 18, 1944 I’ve Finally Completed the Package and A Meeting (Finally) in London with Eddie

 

February 18, 1944

My Own, 

No mail today. However, I've received mail from you inclusive to Feb. 9. I finally completed the package and it contains the following: 12 boxes of chiclets, carton of cookies, box of chocolates, two milky ways, one hanky that I found among your things, and three pairs of GI shorts (also among your things) that I'm sending along in the hope that you will be able to use them. They are size 36—I think. 

Tonight I'm at a loss for words. I did a good day’s work, ate fairly good and feel fairly good. I've finished knitting the back of Mom’s sweater and I have about half of the front completed. 

Gosh, baby, can you imagine me at a loss for words? But I can say a few more oft repeated words, “I love you so very much, my darling”! Phil, (I wish I could say it to you, your name, I mean). I always liked that name and often say it to myself to help me get closer to you, sweet. I'll say goodnight now, Phil, dearest. 

Yours then, now, and evermore 

Eve

February 18, 1944 

Hans Crescent Club 

Dearest Evvie, 

Here I am in London again. I arrived last night about 4 P.M. I rushed like mad from Liverpool St. to the Hans Crescent—I was that impatient to get to Eddie and Izzy Gutkin. I was rather dubious about the latter being able to make it, but I was hoping nevertheless; as for Eddie. I was positive that he would be waiting for me. After all— he set the date. Imagine my chagrin, then, when on inquiring at the desk, I learned that neither of them had checked in. I was downright mortified. Seeing no point hanging about Hans Crescent, I left notes at the desk for both of them, telling them where to find me, and took off for the Eagle Club. There I checked my gas mask. I had intended to eat there—I was hungry, but when I saw how crowded the place was, and having no patience for waiting around to eat, I decided to look for another place. So I wandered about Leicester Square, eventually making my way to Piccadilly Circus. In the course of my gadding about, I stumbled onto the “Criterion Restaurant.” I remembered that someone had recommended it highly. Entering, I found it to be a very attractive place; cozy—in spite of its spaciousness. There are two floors, the “street floor” where “teas” are served between meals, and the basement, which, if anything, is even more luxuriously appointed and “homier” than the top floor. I found I was about fifteen minutes too early for supper, which is at six, so I settled down to wait a quarter of an hour, getting hungrier by the minute. Finally, it was time, and a waitress came over to see what I would have. The menu was printed in French and I was at a loss as to what to order, but she was very accommodating and made it all clear to me. 

Thus I was able to order to my taste, which was as follows: Hors D’Oeuvres, Cambridge Steak, Brussels Sprouts, Mashed Potatoes, Rolls and Butter, and a glass of lager (beer to you). For dessert: Cocoa Blanc Mange (like chocolate pudding). Well, Chippie, everything was delicious, and I did the meal full justice, but the big surprise was were the hors d’oeuvres. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for when I ordered. The waitress pushed a three-tiered trolley over to the table. I took one look at the delicacies in the dozens of trays and had all I could do to keep from drooling—no kiddin’. When I started to point out what I wanted, the waitress very politely asked me if I would leave it to her judgement. I agreed, hastily and gratefully, ’cause while I hated to give up some of the things I relished, I hated even more to make a pig of myself. I needn't have worried on either score, though. ’cause when she finished piling it on, here is what the plate contained: pickled beets, pickled carrot strings, marinated herring, kippered herring, potato salad, baked beans, green peas, pickled greens, pickled sardines, and coleslaw—no less. Lady, when I finished all that, (and was it good!!) I began to have serious misgivings as to my ability to digest the rest of the meal. However, I had no trouble, for everything was so delicious that I hated to reflect that when I finished, there wouldn't be anymore. (Silly, ain’t I?) After I had eaten—out to the Square again, where I “queued up” to see the only picture I have failed to see up ’til now. “His Butler’s Sister” with Deanna Durbin, more grown up and lovelier than ever, is definitely worth anybody's time and money. It is a pleasing comedy, with the added thrill of Deanna's singing. I have only one comment as to that—SUPERB! You must have guessed what my next move was. Exactly: Imperial Turkish baths. I inquired hopefully at the desk for Eddie and Izzy. No luck. This rather put a damper on my spirits, and I felt blue all evening. For some unaccountable reason, I was very, very tired, mentally and physically, so that by the time I had finished “steaming” and sank into one of the steamer chairs to wait my turn at the masseur, I couldn't keep my eyes open and fell into a deep sleep. I was roused much later by the masseur’s repeated calling of my number. Groggily, I might made my way to the massage table and stretched out on it—still conscious of a heavy fatigue. The masseur took the “tiredness” out of my body with his expert fingers, but I was still very drowsy when I got to bed. I “dropped off” again into an uncommonly heavy sleep. You know, Chippie, how impossible it is for me to fall asleep on my back—yet that's exactly what I did! I awoke at 9 o'clock this morning, still on my back. Evidently, I hadn't moved a muscle all night. However, I felt much refreshed this morning and wasted no time getting dressed. I was paying my bill when something about the clatter of footsteps on the stairs behind me made me wheel instinctively. I felt like shouting my joy when I saw Eddie, grinning happily, advancing on me with his hand outstretched in greeting. Need I tell you, Sweet, what our feelings were at that moment? I had just about given up hope of seeing him this trip and his arrival was in the nature of a gift from the gods. We went straightway to the Eagle Club, where we talked and talked over breakfast. After breakfast—into the lounge, where we talked some more and I showed him all the pictures you have sent me since I arrived “over here.” Darling, it was so wonderful to see a familiar face and talk of home with someone who appreciated what I was talking about. We must have “chewed the rag” for about three hours when it struck me Ed might want to see a little more of London-town.—But I'm getting ahead of myself. I was very let down when he told me that his pass was only for 24 hours—and had to see the Colonel to get that! He very nearly couldn’t come at all. It seems his organization is on the verge of moving to another base in England. Too, he is transferring into another outfit. All this made it very difficult for him to procure a pass, and he only succeeded after he enlisted the aid of the Chaplain. At that, he was lucky to get even twenty-four hours. He arrived at Hans Crescent this morning, (3 A.M.) and darn near drove the clerks daffy in his efforts to locate me. The difficulty arose from the fact that the Information Desk closes at 10 P.M. Finally, in order to pacify his outlandish demand that they check every Red Cross Club in London on the chance that I might be there, (there must be a dozen clubs in London with some several thousands of G.I.’s in each), they opened the Info. Desk Room to him. Then your “brilliant” brother pulled a lollapalooza of a boner! Instead of looking for his name on the blackboard, the dummy looked for my name instead! Naturally, he failed to find it. His own name stood out like a sore thumb on the blackboard where I myself had printed it in bold and prominent letters—if you had only looked under the “P”s for it! However, he didn't—and giving it up as a bad job, went disgruntledly to bed. Awaking this morning, he tried the Info. Desk again, complaining that he couldn't find my name on the board, although he was almost sure I was around someplace, and that I must have left a message for him. The girl suggested he look for his own name. (I can imagine what she must have been thinking!) You can imagine for yourself, Sweet, what Eddie felt like when he looked again and found his name, as big as life, staring him in the face! Hastily procuring the note I had left, he scanned it. I had told him I would be at the Baths until 9:30 this morning. I neglected to tell him that at that time I was leaving for Hans Crescent. When he looked at the time, it was exactly 9:15. There was a line waiting to get at the Info. Desk, but he broke right in and demanded to know how to get to Russell Sq. and the Baths. The clerk must have read the desperation in his mind, ’cause she obliged him with the directions. At that, he got there just as I was leaving. The time was 9:35 A.M. Poor kid, he had a hectic time of it all the way through, but all is well that ends well—and he did see it through to the happy conclusion. Of course, the fact that we had to make the 5 o'clock train this very afternoon somewhat lessened our pleasure, and we both decried the fact that we would have so little time together, but on the whole, it was well worth all the trouble. About 1 P.M., I suggested we take a stroll around Leicester Sq. and Piccadilly so that Eddie might see something of London. He was impressed with the hustle and bustle and generally metropolitan aspect of everything, and regretted afresh that he didn't have more time to enjoy it all. Passing the “Empire” where “Thousands Cheer” is still showing, I suggested that we might “take it in.” I knew he would enjoy it and I had no reluctance whatever about seeing it again—it's that good! He agreed—and afterwards was glad that he had consented. He enjoyed it very much. I did, too. We had about an hour to kill after the show—before train time, so I took him to the Criterion for tea. We weren’t very hungry, haven't eaten a pretty big breakfast, and the few sandwiches, tea and pastries were just enough. Then, reluctantly, I saw him to Euston Station, where I saw him safely on his train. Eddie was very impressed with the Underground (Subway) in general and the escalators in particular. We made plans to meet again in the near future just before the train arrived. After I saw him comfortably settled in his seat, I bid him farewell and made my way back to Hans Crescent—half-hoping that Izzy might have come in in the meantime. No such luck! It certainly was swell of Eddie to go to all that trouble and inconvenience and travel so far (app. 260 miles round trip) to see me for a few hours. I'm no end flattered—and grateful—but I guess I wouldn't be doing either him or you justice if I expected anything less of your brother, my darling. 

After the comparatively mild disappointment of the failure of Izzy to get here (I never really believed he would), I settled down to getting this letter written. As you can readily see, Baby, I have been at it for some time now, and I'm beginning to get very hungry—so I know you will excuse me if I conclude this now. 

It just struck me that I had promised to answer your last five letters. Hope you'll understand that this one precludes my doing so. I'll look through them tomorrow, though, for the purpose of answering any questions you may have put—I think there were a few. 

I’ll bid you a fond au revoir for now, my lovely, with the admonition that you don't forget to kiss the punkin for me—and tender my love to all. As for you, Chippie, I can only reiterate what is constantly and undiminishingly in my heart and mind. I adore you! As “my British Buddy” would say—“you’ve had it!!”—from 

Your Phil, 

(how true—how true!)