Post #309 - March 1, 1944 Today Was a Year Since Tante Shush Passed and Red’s in the Throes of Frying a Quail and a Rabbit That He Shot While Hunting Yesterday and a Yiddish Letter from Mom

March 1, 1944 

Darling Hubby, 

Your immense (Feb. 22) letter arrived this afternoon while I was in town and it was the final touch to a perfectly perfect day—at least it was for me. Today was a year since Tante Shush passed, and I'm glad I have something better to remember this March 1 by. I wrote the envelope to this letter this morning, little dreaming that I would have the typewriter at my disposal this evening. It took the repairman exactly two minutes to put this thing in order. That, plus a new ribbon (all black) cost me $3. It's much less than I thought it would be. He said I could get at least $100 for the typewriter if I decided to sell it, and that after the war it would only be worth about $40. Do you think I should? However, I would positively want to get another brand new one after the war. I could sell it and put the money into a bond and then cash it in after the war. I’ll also talk it over with my mother. (Uncle Nish bought Bea a nice portable, but paid $50 for it). 

And now for the high spot of my letter! I went downtown with Sarah this afternoon after putting Adele to sleep AND bought and bought and bought three things—big things—a coat, shoes (dressy) and a handbag. Now for details: I saw the enclosed ad in the paper and really went for the backless toeless shoe pictured in the center and the handbag. Can you picture me pay $9 for shoes at I. Miller’s? Well, that's exactly what I did. The heel is not nearly as high as demonstrated, in fact, I'd say it was half the size. It's a high heel, but comfortably so, and one of the most flattering, good-looking pair I've ever possessed. They are rich brown tone and I bought them mainly for my fur coat. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. 

I left the house at 12:15 and met Sarah at Snellenburg’s at one. The one single coat that she had seen was still there (reduced from $40 to $15—I can’t get over it, except that the coat is rather soiled and will need cleaning immediately) fitted me perfectly, (the sleeves have to be lengthened just a trifle for my long arms) and I bought it. It's a very light beige color, double-breasted with a very low cut sports collar, two rows of three large tan colored buttons, two deep pockets with flaps and a small inside pocket on the left breast. The back has a small wide belt that holds in place two large pleats on either side of the back. It has raglan shoulders, well-padded that make me look like a football player or sumpin’, and very flattering lines. I hope to have a snap of myself wearing it as soon as we have some nice weather. March came in like a lion, for it was windier than windy, and I don't mean maybe. (The material is 100% wool, very soft and good looking, and the lining is a lovely rich satin). 

On our way out, I suggested we pass the handbag counter and spied a bag very similar to the one pictured in the ad—cost $4.95. Since there is a tax to go into effect on bags, and since I haven't a decent one, I decided to get one right then and there. It has four pulled-in pleats in the front and the zipper top. I yanked the handle off already (that's the kind of junk they put out today and I think I can fix it myself.  The leather (oh yeh!) is fairly nice and should wear well. It matches the shoes perfectly. The bag pictured was very tiny and not half as nice as the one I bought. I bought the coat and bag on Betty’s charge account as my check did not come through today and if it doesn't show up tomorrow they are going to hear from me. (I don't have to pay Betty til April 15). 

We walked (or were blown) down Chestnut St. to get the subway when we chanced to pass I. Miller’s and I recalled the ad when I saw the shoes displayed in the window. Luckily, I had my ration stamp with me. I tried them on, liked them and bought them—just like that. I'm still in a daze, but it feels so o good. That's the best remedy for what ails me, especially when I go at It so wholeheartedly. It's only the beginning, for I'm sorely in need of several dresses, which I fully intend to buy in the near future. 

I'm working all day for Miss Hahn tomorrow and it will help me out of my present predicament. I really shouldn't have spent so much money, but I think I'll be able to squeeze through, even though I may have to borrow at the end of the month. 

I'm glad, sweetness, that you derived so much pleasure from the snaps and (and I said this yesterday) I'll take that Clare Pruett picture next week. First I must get Adele shoes, as her present ones are positively a mess. I'm against your suggestion to melt your school ring and make Adele a baby ring. I’d rather melt your school ring and remake a nice ring for you, very much, if you don't mind. I'm not going to buy Adele any jewelry at the moment, and perhaps we'll get to buy her that together in the near future. Hope you're in accordance, sweet, as it does mean quite a bit to me. 

Don't worry, honey, I'll squeeze in all the chocolate I can and have asked Ruth (she does all the shopping and pulls all the strings for such things) to get me a box of Milky Ways, Mars etc., or whatever she can get her hands on. As I said before, I have a box of Stevens chocolates on hand and have ordered another box of chocolates and a box of chocolates straws. 

I thought your Valentine offering very cute, dear, very cute indeed. As for saying anything “Fresh”—don't worry—I'm not bashful with you. I don't like to say fresh things anyway, unless you're right here and then—(I'll really get “fresh”). 

Harry and Goldie went downtown to buy him a hat to match his coat, or rather go with this coat. I was supposed to go to Marshall St. with Mom today (this evening) If the checks came. Rae came over for dinner and took Mom in town to see a show “Jane Eyre” with two passes Mickey had given her. They had intended to go shopping first, time permitting, but time didn't permit. 

Had a nice letter from Gloria today and she hasn't heard from Jack for a long time and feels he's on his way again. Mom is kind of worried, as usual. Did I tell you that I wrote six letters the other day? How does the typed letter line up with the written? Don't compare! What a difference! I do have lots to say this evening and I'm glad I'm able to type such a longie. This will never get into the mail tonight (I'm very tired now and making too many errors) as it is past nine. I told Mom to dash off and had to do the dishes and put Adele to bed. I washed as many dishes as Adele would let me while she was up and had to leave it til I got her to bed. Then the sink stopped up and I said the hell with it,  and sat down to type. That brings me up to date, baby, except that I still have to wash a few things before hitting the hay. Adele wet all her overalls while I was gone, “Did” in her panties and whatnot. Just shows you the care a mother gives a child. Goldie never offers to stay with Adele or even watch her, and is terribly finicky about doing any sort of laborious work in the house. She even saves the ironing board for Harry to put away! I won't judge severely as she is pregnant, but, nevertheless, she isn't inclined to be overly ambitious. On several occasions I could have gotten out had she offered to just look on Adele—but nothing doing. I still don't like to leave her with Mom, although I trust Mom with her more than I did before, except that Mom can’t take her up and down the steps and that's one of the more important reasons. I feel best when I leave her with Ruth or my Mom and have come to depend on them exclusively when I wish to leave her. Adele her carriage and hichair are being moved to my mother’s so that I may work all day tomorrow. 

I forgot to tell you that I weighed myself recently (after Adele's illness) and weighed 118, which is pretty good. I think I dropped a few pounds while she was ill and I'm doing my best to put it on again. I think my bust has developed a bit, at least Mom mentioned it—so there now. Think I'm “fresh”? (Boy, I'd like to read your mind right now!) 

Sarah and Betty have been perfectly wonderful to me, Phil, and they shall be my everlasting friends for it. They have been a great help to bolster my crumbling morale since our separation, and I appreciate it no end. Room to send all my love, precious Phil, and a kiss from Adel-e, as some call her. 

Your Eve

March 1, 1944

My Own Darling, 

Today I am CQ once more. The first day of any month is usually a busy one for me. This 1st of March was no exception. What with Soldiers’ Deposits, money to be cabled home for those desiring it, reports to get it out, etc., it was a very full day. I had very good hopes that today would bring the “jackpot,” but there was no mail at all. This is the sixth mailless day for me, except for that V-mail I received yesterday. However, I hope I shall find enough to talk about to fill this page. I think you would consider that a pretty big letter, wouldn't you, Sweet? 

I had a helluva time just now trying to get a fire started, and only succeeded after fooling around with it for about an hour or so. I still have the bunk to make up. If I manage to finish this by then, I expect to hit the hay by 10 o'clock. At first I had every intention of writing all those letters I owe to my correspondents, but I'm much too tired for that, and somehow, the time slips by almost unnoticed. It will take me to the small hours of the morning to knock out the three or four letters I owe. 

The picture at the theater is Red Skelton in “Whistling in Brooklyn.” Red Barnhart had asked me to go with him, but since I am CQ tonight, I couldn't accompany him. I must rise early (6 o'clock) tomorrow morning to kind of do the chores of a bugler (without a bugle). Needless to say, it is a thankless job, bugle or not. 

Last night I invested what little I could afford—and lost! All I have to my name now is a couple of pounds. Hope Eddie doesn’t arrange a “date” in London this month, ’cause then I'll be forced to borrow again and I hate to do it. I'm surprised I haven't heard from “Jack” Gutkin I've written twice to him about three weeks ago, but I haven't heard a thing. 

Well, Chippie, here it is the beginning of our “big” month and although I had had hopes at one time that I would be back home by now, it looks very much as though I won't make it. Still, it wouldn't surprise me too much if this proves to be the decisive month. So you see, Baby, I'm far from discouraged. I feel that we are nearing the end of our time of trial. Just how long it will be before I can see you, once it is all over, is difficult to say. The “powers that be” can't seem to make up their minds about it, but I don't think it will take more than a few months. You said a while back that you don't expect to see me home before ’45, but I don't think you really believe that, Chippie. Maybe I'll surprise you yet! 

Now that I've started the second page, I'm trying hard to find thoughts enough to fill it. 

I might mention that I haven't received any of the packages yet. I sure could go for some chocolates right now! Or better yet, Ev, how's about taking a walk to Ben’s with me for a malted milk or a Sundae? At the moment, I am chewing a stick of the Double-Mint gum that you were good enough to send along. You have no idea how precious chewing gum is over here, Baby. While we're on the subject, if you can manage to get that halvah, I wish you would include it in your next package. Send as much as you are able, 'cause there are plenty of guys here to help me eat it. 

It is very quiet here, in the orderly room. The stove is red-hot now and the heat feels good. Red was just in to inform me that the picture was very funny. He didn't stay long because he's in the throes of frying a quail and a rabbit that he shot while hunting yesterday. Here he comes again. He has a piece of the quail that he wants me to taste, but I don't care for it. I told him I was just talking about him—he says “hello.” 

It's after 10 o'clock now, Sweet, and my bunk still isn't made up, so I'll say good night now. A great big hug and kiss for the punkin. My love to all, and the same old brand of love for you, my Chippie. 

Your devoted hubby, 

Phil 

P.S. I'm “fresh out” of Air-Mail envelopes; hope this “Free” mail reaches you just as promptly. 

March 1, 1944

Wednesday Nite

Dear Cousin Phil,

How are you. I received a letter from Evelyn and upon request I got your address and the addresses of your cousins also. So you are in England, and I understand that you contacted Jack. I hope you both finally get to see one another. I bet there would be plenty to talk about. I sent the kid your address and so did Evelyn send you Jack’s. My 2 brother-in-laws are somewhere in England also, and in my next letter to you I’ll send you their addresses, one’s a Staff Sergeant and the other a Corporal. 2 swell guys. First I hope you get to see Jack. I hear your kid is adorable. We received a letter from your Ma and she raves about her. You must be a mighty proud Daddy. I guess Evelyn wrote you that my husband is in North Africa, but he doesn’t expect to stay there long. I’ll give you his address anyway. Pvt. Carl J. Furr 32893347-6702nd L.B.T.S. A.P.O. 600, C/O P.M.N.Y. Every time I get mail he has another number. Well coz, I’ll have to say so long for now. God bless you and may this whole mess be over real soon so that we can all be together again in the very near future.

Your Cousin,

Anne

Regards from the folks.

Keep your chin up.

Translation of Yiddish Letter from Bella (a.k.a. Rebecca Strongin) to her son, Philip

March 1, 1944

My Sweet and Precious Son Philipka,

I can write to you that we are all fine, healthy and are proud to hear good news from you, my precious son. I have read your loved and precious letter with great pleasure. I am happy to have heard that you are in good health and see that you write so sweetly in Yiddish. Every word has a healing effect on my heart. Forgive me for not writing to answer your letters right away. You know that every day I am busy preparing supper and with housework and in the evening I am dead tired. I sit myself down alone by the radio to rest at the end of the day and that is how every day passes quickly by.

Nu? And soon I will become a very proud busy lady when Ethel, who is expecting any day, goes into the hospital and gives birth. When that happens, I will be going to their house to take care of Paul. I will be cooking supper and afterwards, when she comes home from the hospital, God willing, Goldie will be next, and because of that, I will be busy again. 

May God continue to give you good health. It was good to hear good news from you as it alleviated much of my anxiety and I am very happy to be busy so that I don’t dwell on other things. This is what my life is like, my dear son. I do not have so much worry now that I received your letter. Because it was three weeks since your last letter, my anxiety level was beginning to affect my health, but now that I have, thank God, gotten this good letter from you, everything is all right. Now that I understand that you didn’t write for a while because you were busy driving for the base, I forgive you. I know that we are all busy.

What else can I write to you? I’m sure Evelyn has already written to you about my allotment. I know this situation will make you happy. May God grant that you find yourself home next week and that would make me even happier. May God forgive me for bringing this up, but I suppose that Evelyn has already written to you about Goldie, and that she doesn’t do anything around the house. Because Evelyn writes everything to you, therefore, I have not much to write to you.

This I am happy to share with you. I am delighted to tell you that your daughter, Adele, is my entire life’s pleasure. She is a doll and very intelligent and very sweet. She should live a long life only with luck! May she continue to grow in such a way that when you return home in good health, you will be proud of her. Amen!

Phil, Adele, the little “pisher,” (a Yiddish endearment?) just ran into the kitchen, saw me writing this letter to you, and she said “Da-da, da-da!” A blessing on her head! Amen!

Greetings from everyone, and I beg you, Philipka, when you have time, write me a Yiddish little note to let me know how you are faring. I wish you would write to me to let me know what you would like for your birthday.

Post #308 - February 29, 1944 Everything Gets Scarcer and Scarcer and I Paid Off All My Debts, After Which I Had Very Little Left

 

February 29th, 1944

Dearest Daddy, 

The 29th is here again, making our daughter exactly 15 months of age. Gosh, Phil, she's gettin’ there. 

I had two nice letters today, one from my brother, and one from Ed Strongin. My brother went into detail about the meeting and sure is fond of you. 

I called the Royal people today and a man is supposed to call tomorrow. They won't say definitely, but expect to have him here tomorrow. It costs $1.75 just for service charge. Here's to longer typed letters, sweet! 

I'm hoping like anything that my check will come through tomorrow, not to mention a letter from you, baby. Sarah found a coat for me, reduced from $40, or thereabouts, to $15. It's a beige, (always manage to wind up with that color don't I?) camel hair, fitted coat, double-breasted (her description) with sports collar and fitted with belt in back. It's a plain, neat, fitted sports coat, and I was hoping to land a grey or beige. Clothes are sky-high, and I'm hoping this is the bargain she says it is. I'm going down with her when I put Adele to sleep (afternoon). If my check doesn't come through, Betty promised  to let me use her coin. The store—Snellenburgs—where I bought my beige tuxedo coat. I guess that aqua suit will have to wait a while. After paying Mom $60 plus $40 for board, buying a coat, a stroller (I hope) and a much needed pair of shoes for Adele I’m going to be flatter than flat. However, Miss Hahn called (imagine) and would like to have me all day Thurs. If I can possibly arrange it, I expect to go. She certainly has depended on me, especially at this late date. It's due to the fact that there are many complaints, etc. due to the labor and paper shortage, which may force her to give up the business. That reminds me—Stevens expects to fold up. The fellow who bakes and makes the candy has been called into the service. Steven advertised two weeks for help—no answers. Rae will have to find a new job after all these years. I ordered a box of chocolates and chocolate straws for you since it may be the last from Stevens. Everything gets scarcer and scarcer. 

The weather was nasty Mon. and Tues. and Adele still hasn't been out. When I get her shoes and the weather is nice I hereby promise to go to Clare Pruett—honest to God. 

She said “Sarah” distinctly this evening and climbs all the way up the stairs to make “sis” with with me right behind her. She runs to the refrigerator, tries to open the door, all the while yelling “bu ta”—(butter). She also says “Paul” clearly. Adele puts her head on the floor as if to somersault, and I turn her over. She does it over and over and over. She likes to do “spite” work, too. When I say “no” she goes ahead and touches or does whatever I say not to do. She has plenty of nerve. 

Time to go, baby, not, though, til I've said I love you, Phil and a fond goo-night. Wow!—who said that— 

Your Eve 

P.S. I'm a baad girl? 

February 29th, 1944 

My Darling, 

After five days of waiting, I finally received a letter—and V-mail at that! It was yours of the 16th Feb., but where are where are those of 12th, 13th, 14th, and 15th? Last night I promised you a “longie” if and when I received the customary “batch” of letters, but you can hardly call that lone V-mail letter a “batch” —and I'm still stuck for words. 

I finally managed to answer Gloria's letter this afternoon. This afternoon, incidentally, was pay-day. Unlike most other pay-days, I wasn't in a very happy frame of mind about it. I paid off all my debts, after which I had very little left. The fact that I don't tell you exactly how little remains signifies the comparative insignificance of the amount. Oh well—such is life without a wife—(how true—how true!). 

Today was Tuesday, and Tuesday is distinguished mainly 'cause it is “Ice Cream Day” and I certainly did enjoy that vanilla ice cream! Speaking of food—did I tell you, I've developed a fondness for po’k-chops? Sho’ nuff! 

I've decided to “invest” a part of my small capital. If I ever needed some luck, now is the time! 

Last night I dreamed of you, Sweet, but did I play a dirty trick on myself—I'll tell you about it sometime. You claim you know what the asterisk means. Bet a dollar you don’t! Let's hear. Quote—Just room enough to say “I love you, Evelyn.” Unquote, 

Your Phil 

February 29th, 1944 

Dear Phil, 

Received your letter of February 13th, and my feelings are very hurt that you took that impression from my letter. I wasn't upbraiding you for not writing, I was just telling you that I hadn't heard from you since Sept. and then I received a letter in January. 

As far as the package is concerned, it is on its way now that I have your request, I hope that you enjoy every mouthful. 

By this time you have probably received the last letter I wrote to you concerning Snuff. As yet, we have received no further word with regard to his physical, and there is nothing we can do now except sit tight. They closed all enlistments, so now he won't get into the Unit he wanted unless they reopen them. 

Went to see the Frank Sinatra picture “Higher and Higher” Sunday night and was rather surprised with the personality that he exhibited. I don't know whether you have ever heard of him, since he is something new since you went over. He is called “The Voice.” He looks like he has tuberculosis and is really nothing to look at. But he does have a pleasant singing voice—when you can hear it. The girls in both the movie and radio audiences display such exuberance that you can seldom hear him sing a complete song. In fact, the Army will not allow his programs to be broadcasted overseas because he thinks the fellows will only have disgust for the display that the females put on. 

Went to see “The Gangs All Here” with Alice Faye and Carmen Miranda. It was really entertaining, but the ending was asinine. (Is that how you spell it?) 

Haven't been doing much up to now. I did buy a stunning purple suit and I made myself a bag and a hat to go with it. There is quite a rage on right now for crocheted handbags. In fact, they're selling for $55.00 in town. 

Please let bygones be bygones and I promise never to say again that I didn't hear from you. Awaiting your prompt reply, I am 

As ever,

Dot

Post #307 - February 28, 1944 Adele Calls All Pictures “Da-Das” Now and I Haven’t Had as Much as a Cold Since Early in September, Which is Quite an Accomplishment Over Here

 

February 28, 1944

Dearest Sweetheart, 

I was unusually disappointed when the postman passed us by this morning, as it would have been four mail-less days. Imagine, then, my elation when the afternoon mail had your letters of Feb. 18 and 20 to offer. I read through them quickly, holding my breath and then inexpressive excitement came over me as I read of your meeting with Ed. I'm so happy for you and hope you will meet again. You also cleared up dubious accounts of Ed's whereabouts, bothering the family for some time. I saw “His Butler’s Sister” about a month ago and liked it as well as you did. When Deanna hits the high notes, my blood runs cold. The Criterion sounds swell, and I'd sure like to accompany you someday. I guess you've heard from Izzy by this time and I'm hoping you'll see him, too. I passed up “Hostages”—it didn't appeal to me and I'm glad I did. So you got a Valentine from Ruth—uh huh? Guess, I forgot all about it—or did I? 

I feel as you do about v-mail, baby, and I can hereby assure you that I will never use it unless absolutely necessary. I shall have the typewriter repaired shortly, and if I should type single space, on the v-mail I could say plenty and I probably will. I'm invariably very tired and sleepy and there is little time in the evening (after I've gotten Adele to sleep) to relax, as you do, and just write my heart out. There are always interruptions, etc. and I lose my train of thought. I try to write most of your letters in the afternoon when Adele takes her nap to get a head start. Please, sweetheart, don't be too critical of my mail as I try very hard to do my best and you can count on that. 

I didn't think you would approve of my going to Columbus. Ohio, and I can't say that I blame you. Yes, I'll wait till you come home, sweet. 

I have a box of Stevens chocolates on hand to start my next package and will certainly include razor (double-edge) blades. Anything else you'd like to include? I called Dot and she'll be mailing out her package shortly. She also had a letter from you. 

Adele looked positively luscious today. She always reminds me of a rosebud when she's wearing the pink sweater I made her. Her appetite has improved and so has her talking. She calls Ruth—ruf—says Jack—calls Goldie—dodie (she can't say “g” yet). She’ll be really talking any day. She says many, many things that escape my mind at the moment. She likes to rifle pockets—any kind—anyone's. When she sees a hanky or a Kleenex, she says “poo-poo,” meaning to blow the nose. When I'm feeding her, she'll stop suddenly, give me her fingers and smack her lips. She won't continue eating til I've kissed them. Same thing happens with her toeies when I'm dressing her. She puts her arms in her arm holes herself and when I say “feetsy,” she picks up her foot, so that I may put her overalls on. I still can't get over the way she says “shish” every time she has to go. She never fails to pat herself afterwards. One thing strikes me funny—whenever I get a letter from you, she always says “da-da.” She calls all pictures “da-das” now, but will kiss only one—yours! Now have I convinced you that she knows her daddy when she sees his substitutes? I always give her the envelope of your letter to play with while I read. She loves to tear paper. It works miracles when I wish to keep her occupied, except that she must be watched closely or she’d eat it. She takes everything into her mouth! Her hair is getting curlier and I have a helluva time combing the back—it gets that tangled. Her hair is much longer, (I think lighter in color) and her eyes look darker—more brownish black like mine. Her lashes never fail to attract attention. They are unusually long, curl just right and are very flattering to her large dark eyes. That dimple in her chin is quite pronounced and also very flattering. Gosh, but she's a lovely child. Life is ironical at times. Here is your dream come true and you can't see it personally! It kills me—so how must you feel. Harry is confident his will be just as nice. Several names they have mentioned for the newcomer (Goldie speaks mostly of girls names) Detria, Donna, Dennis, Daniel, Doreen and I just thought of a nice girls name—Delia—do you like any? The second name will be with a “J” after your pop—they mentioned the name Dennis Jay Strongin. Sounds nice, doesn't it? By the way, my board will now be $40 instead of $20 starting next month. Harry and Goldie will each pay $10 per week, and so will Mom, making a total of $40 per week. There was an announcement made that no 4-F’s will be recalled as the Army has had too much trouble with them. 

Mom expects to spend at least two weeks at Ethel's when the baby comes. She will go there when everyone leaves for the hospital to care for Paul, which will be almost anytime in March. 

I washed the multi-colored scarves I crocheted for our bedroom for the first time and they washed nicely. I washed and pressed all day long. 

I'm listening with one ear to “Guadalcanal Diary” which has just come on the radio—the Lux theater. 

Phil, (do you mind if I say your name again—It brings you close to me) Phil, darling. You are, according to the time, asleep at this moment. How I wish I could kiss the back of your neck to wake you. It's only a week to your 29th birthday, darling, and one month to my 22nd. It's going to be a year since our visit to Columbus. I was so terribly happy then and want so to recapture that feeling. I adore you, my darling Phil—here's 29 kisses for each year and an extra special one for good luck. I wish I could deliver them personally, honey, and pray that I will on your next. 

Your Eve

February 28, 1944. 

Eve, darling, 

The fourth mail-less day, and since the “doings” of the day were just as yesterday—and all the other days, I'm really at a loss for words. 

I might point out that tomorrow is Adele's fifteenth monthly birthday (still don't know there's 12 months in a year, I guess), and I'll bet she is some girl by now. I can hardly wait ’til I see that Clare Pruett picture you promised to have made this month. I'm hoping you surprise me with it as a birthday present. 

Still haven't made an opportunity to write all those letters I told you about a few days ago. I do have slack moments during the day, but never long enough to get a letter off. Whenever I get ready to settle down to it, something else pops up. In the evening I barely have time to write “your” letter before lights out, and that's the way it's been for almost a week now. It's very aggravating for me and does my peace-of-mind no good. Then, too, my inability to send you any money, this month isn't too easy to take either. 

Outside of these two worries, things in general are running smoothly. I'm still feeling swell, physically, which is rather surprising when you consider the vagaries of the English climate. I haven't had as much as a cold since early in September, which is quite an accomplishment over here. 

Ordinarily, I would be looking forward to another two-day pass in a few days, but being temporarily all but disabled financially, I guess I'll have to let it ride ’til a more opportune time. Speaking of finances, Sweet, I was wondering just how we stand. I have only a vague notion as to the amount of our debts and savings. I would appreciate it if you would enlighten me. You must know that I give a great deal of thought to our post-war prospects and the amount we can manage to save is going to be an essential factor in planning the immediate future once the war ends and I am free to return to you. 

Well, darling, I'm just about “writ out” again, but I promise you'll be getting some more “longies” as soon as your next batch of letters arrives. Kiss the punkin for me, give my love to all, and rest assured of the constant an everlasting love of 

Your Phil 

Post #306 - February 26, 27, 1944 The Radio and Newspapers say London is Due for Another “Shellacking” and The Company Got a New C.O. Today, 1st Lt. Crane

 

February 26, 1944

Darling Hubby, 

I thought I’d enclose this clipping 'cause I almost didn't believe it—14 weeks! I am also enclosing a letter I received from Lee Nerenberg to give you an idea of how she writes. I can scarcely believe she is only 16. This is beginning to sound like a “believe it or not,” letter, and while I'm on the subject, sweet, I can't believe it's 7 months since I saw you. Is that good or bad? At least it shows the time is passing quickly, and that's good. 

Hooray! My dad quits the Parkway when March 10th. He has given them notice, so I guess it's final. He has been going to the new place two to three hours a day to learn the ropes. He told me he saw a nice stroller for Adele. I'm just waiting for him to get on the “inside” and then I hope to get the stroller wholesale. 

I thought the spring weather would last a while—no dice—it rained and rained and rained all day. I couldn't go out anyway. Adele is herself for the first time in weeks, although her appetite is still poor. She dropped considerable weight (I did, too) and Mom only insists she is too thin now. Can you beat that? In my opinion, she's just right—so there now. 

You know, baby, I'm beginning to feel more and more like an old lady or sumpin’. Ruth is going out on dates (yes, really) and introduced me to a few of her girlfriends and boyfriends. The fellows were very nice looking and one, in particular, sings on the radio. The girls are all pretty (Ruth included) and so grown up at 14 and 15. Now, do you know why I'm feel older! (I can hear you saying—“what should I say—29 on the 6th!) Today is Ed’s birthday and my mom was out of sorts—too busy remembering how it was 19 years ago. Seymour will be 18 on June 1st and I doubt if he'll stay out of the army for six weeks after he registers. They are planning to call up 4-F’s again—but—you know the Army. 

I suggested to Mom that she go to New York for a vacation when Harry and Goldie go home next Saturday, (Mar. 4) and I’ll board at my mother's. She hasn't a decent coat or a dressy dress to make the trip. I hope to go shopping with her and perhaps she'll go after all. She corresponded with Emma and Max (they were in Florida for vacation and returned last week) and they invited, in fact, pleaded, with her to come to New York in the near future. 

Phil, the radio and newspapers say London is due for another “shellacking” and if you have my feelings at heart you won't go to London for a while. I know it's a lot to ask, especially when you look forward to the trips and an opportunity to relax, but I’d feel lot happier if I knew you weren't there at the time it is bombed. You can’t and haven't convinced me that it is safe and my heart drops into my shoes whenever I think of you being present when there is a bombing. When I hear for myself on the radio that it is comparatively safe I'll be only too happy to see you go to London. Everyone keeps warning me to tell you this. I know you wouldn't go if you thought it unwise, but I'd feel so much better if you wait til we have them beaten down a lot before going. Please—

Feb. 27, 1944

I was so drowsy last night I went right off to bed. If you’re getting the news of what's happening here, you'll know that there was a big row in Congress—Barkley vs. Roosevelt. Congress overrode the president's veto on the new tax bill, which put a large tax on many things. For instance, air-mail will now be 8¢ per hour and 3¢ for local letters. There will be a tax on handbags and many other so-called luxury items. The Wymans and Chases took Mom to see “Thousands Cheer” and she is spending the evening there. Milt, Sylvia, Harry and Goldie are going out together. Glo called from New York. She hasn't had mail all week from Jack and wondered if we did. We haven't had mail either and are wondering what's what? Adele likes to crawl on my back, hug me and make me “piggy back” her all over the place. She adores it and keeps begging me to give her a “piggy back.” (The radio is playing one of my favorite songs at the moment—“My Ideal.) (Guess I don’t have to say what or whom I'm thinking of, huh). 

It rained again today. If the weather is nice tomorrow, Adele will go out for the first time in two weeks. She had color in her face and looked completely well today. I'm not in a letter-writing mood, sweetness, I only want to “love” you this evening. Mind very much if I snuggle up and go to sleep on your shoulder, honey? I love you, darling mine! 

Your Eve 

February 26, 1944 

Sweetheart, 

Last night, after very dull day, I lay down on my bunk to take a nap, meaning to get up at 9 o'clock to write my “daily dozen.” Unfortunately I didn't wake ’til almost 10 o'clock and it was then too late to start a letter. I hate to miss writing even for a day, Sweet. Believe it or not—I was uneasy all day today because of it. I promise it won't happen again. 

Today I checked all the service records for discrepancies and incomplete entries. They were in pretty good shape, but there was enough work on them to keep me busy every minute of the day. I even worked an hour later than usual in order to complete the work. 

There was no mail for the third consecutive day. I'm looking forward to a fresh batch tomorrow or the next day. I did receive a V-mail from Gloria today. She wants me to send a request so she might send me a birthday gift. Darn nice of her, I thought. By the way, I forgot to mention that I received my first birthday greeting a few days ago from Harry and Goldie. Tell them thanks for me, will you, Sweet? I regret that I haven't had nearly as much time for correspondence as I need—else I would write to them. I'm having difficulty finding a free hour or two to answer all those I owe letters and it “gripes” me. If we only had a day off once in awhile, I would use it to good advantage catching up with my correspondence, which is much heavier now than it ever was. Under the circumstances, however, I find it impossible to keep up with it all. I hope everybody concerned will understand. 

Last night, due to my nap earlier in the evening, I lay awake a long time remembering. You only get one guess, Baby, as to the subject of my reminiscing. One particular line in your last letter letter made an indelible impression on me. You said that on the day I come back to you, you want to look exactly like the girl I married. A very sentimental thought, darling, and a very sweet one. I love your absolute understanding of what is nearest and dearest to my heart. You need have no doubts on that score, though, ’cause regardless of your attire, once I hold you close in my arms, my heart alone will tell me that this is my own beloved bride. Really, my Evvie, I never could get used to the idea that you were my wife and no longer my sweetheart, in the accepted sense of the word. Rarely, if ever, did I ever contemplate you without being conscious of a sense of wonder that you belonged irrevocably to me. The novelty of living with Evelyn Paller; seeing her, quite matter-of-factly, preparing to go to bed with me; calling herself Mrs. Phil Strongin—never wore off for me. I doubt if it ever will. I just can't take you for granted, Angel, and it seems to me I will never be quite convinced that I need not worry about “winning” you. Today—almost on the Eve of our third anniversary, I do not think of you as wife, or mother of my child, or even the sweetheart who promised herself to me one unforgettable, uniquely beautiful night. Today, just as the first time I saw you, you are the lovely, vivacious, exciting “Chippie,” the first sight of whom filled me with a consuming desire to possess her and to be possessed by her. It may surprise you to learn, Chippie, that that initial hunger for you has never been sated. Do you begin to understand why you are still “Chippie”—not wife—or mother? 

Whatever thoughts may crowd your image into my subconscious through the day, just as surely as 10:30 P.M. arrives every twenty-four hours, I'll be thinking only of you, my adored Chippie. Never ignore 5:30—that's when I'm with you. My love to the punkin. My love to all. 

Your Phil 

February 27, 1944 

Dearest Chippie, 

Just got back from the movie. Red and I took in the first show. The picture was “Hit Parade of 1943” with John Carrol and Susan Hayward. The picture itself isn't such-a-much, but Susan is a cute little dish, and her impish personality made it enjoyable. The sound system, though, is as bad as ever, and the music and singing is very distorted. This makes it impossible to enjoy the best musical, let alone the grade “B” product we saw tonight. 

This afternoon we had a swell lunch. Believe it or not, Sweet, I ate chicken and actually enjoyed it. It was “southern-fried” and tasted like anything but chicken. The vegetables were mashed potatoes, green peas, coleslaw. Dessert was sliced pineapple. As is my custom, when I particularly enjoy the meal, I went back for seconds. 

Still no mail, but I'm still looking for that “jack-pot.” 

Somehow I can't find the time to write to everyone I owe letters to. Tomorrow, if I do nothing else, I'll get off a few, anyhow. 

Everything is moving along smoothly. The Company got a new CO today, 1st Lt. Crane. Captain Burket was transferred out. Outside of that, nothing new or startling happened today. 

Guess you see by the papers that “our boys” are knocking hell out of the Luftwaffe. Well, that's what we're here for—to help “our boys” do just that. 

This will have to be a “shortie,” Baby, so I'll just bid you the usual fond adieu, tell you that I love you just a little more than I did yesterday, and bid you kiss the punkin for me and give my love to all. I am 

Your Phil 

Post #305 - February 25, 1944 “Pig Foot Pete, The Boogey Woogey Man”

 

February 25, 1944

Darling Phil, 

No mail and not much to say, hence v-mail. Adele is still a bit cranky and hasn't regained her appetite. Had a v-mail from Ed containing his new address. I wrote 5 letters yesterday—one to you, Ed, Milt, and Jack N. Oh yes, Glo was the fifth. 

Harry is going to take his vacation next week and he and Goldie are going to Poughkeepsie to visit her folks. 

Adele slept soundly for the first time in weeks. She awoke when I went to bed (about 10:15), I slapped her on the potty, she “went” and went right back to sleep for the rest of the night. Boy, was I mad? Oh yeh! 

I've been working on Mom’s sweater whenever time permits and have almost completed the front. It should be quite nice. 

I'm awful hungry for you at this moment, baby, and want very much to draw you close, hold and kiss you tenderly. Phil, darling, I love you so dearly! Betty Hutton is singing on the radio and the number is the type you'd like. “Pig Foot Pete, the Boogey Woogey Man.” I haven't been “out” since Jack N. was here and my visit to the Browns—three or more weeks. We'll go out tonight, won't we, sweet? I'll be ready in just a jiffy if you don't mind waiting for 

Your Eve

Post #304 - February 24, 1944 The German Measles Clear in 24 Hours and Tolerance is the Most Sadly Neglected Tenet in the World Today and A V-Mail to Jack Paller and A Letter from Len and Lee Nerenberg

 

February 24, 1944 

Darling Mine, 

Adele's rash cleared completely overnight and the doctor gave me permission to take her out of bed. The German Measles clear in 24 hours and that's what happened. I guess you think I'm sore—oh yeh! He told me to keep her in the house for four days and then I can take her out. Today the weather was lovelier than ever, warm, sunny, breezy and downright beautiful. Gosh but I wanted to go out! I received 3 pieces of mail—your v-mail of the 14th, Jack N.’s lovely letter, and a letter from Milt. Milt expects this weekend to be his last home—he's going over any day now, as most of his division has left already. Jack N. decided he wanted an overseas hat and a pair of gloves instead of a shirt. I don't know when I'll be able to shop, but when I do I'll get you a hat, too. He's doing photography again. That reminds me—Ruth managed to get me another roll film. I'm saving it for the warmer weather to have clearer snaps. 

Adele's appetite is very poor and consequently she is pounds lighter. I wouldn't want her to lose any more weight for as she grows it is taken up in the height. I kept her in bed in the morning, let her walk around the room in early afternoon, and brought her down for dinner. Time for all my love and adoration, baby. 

Your Eve 

February 24, 1944

Dearest Chippie, 

No mail today for a change—and I'm almost relieved, because it gave me a chance to catch up with my correspondence. I just completed three V-mails to Ruthie, Seymour and Jack. I still have to answer Phil, Jack S., Jack N. and Eddie, so you see, I'm still way behind. 

Today I have no letter of yours beside me to help me gather my thoughts, but on the other hand, it gives me an opportunity to tell you something of myself and my activities, such as they are, of the past few days. 

Really, on reflection, there isn't much to tell. “Business” has been pretty dull, and the pictures at the theater being way below par, I hardly stir from the hut in the evenings. Occasionally, when I happen to get hungry after a supperless day, I stroll down the road to the Snack Bar. There, I’ll chew the rag with boys awhile over coffee and sandwiches, loaf around in the lounge about a half-hour or so listening to records and leafing through magazines. I don't stay more because the “jive” records and the “swoon crooners” make me intolerably homesick. When this happens, I head back to the hut, where, after warming up at the fire, I settle down on my bunk to write the daily letter. This goes on night after night with hardly a break to vary the monotony. Occasionally there is a “break,” but it's of such a nature that I wouldn't be permitted to put the details in a letter. Too, there are other things about our operations, the actual aspect of the field, the number of planes, etc., that I would like to tell you about, but all these come under the heading of “forbidden topics,” maybe, though, it's a good thing I can't enlarge on these subjects. After all, I'll have to have something to talk about when I get home—some blessed day. 

As to the more mundane aspects of my present existence, I can truthfully say that I rarely felt better, physically. My appetite at lunchtime, which is the only meal I eat consistently (breakfast never, supper sometimes) is simply enormous. If Mom could see the quantity of food I consume at that one meal she’d be astounded. Living quarters, as I've already told you, are comfortable and designed to meet our minimum needs. Luxuries, in this respect, there are none, naturally. Time, i.e., spare time, isn't too plentiful either, in spite of our comparatively easy routine. Every day is “Monday,” and we make no concessions whatever to Sunday. The high spots in a rather drab existence for most of us, are letters from home, packages from home, pass or furlough, or a particularly encouraging item of “war news.” The main pre-occupation of all the G.I.’s is what, in their more refine moments, they are pleased to call “batting the breeze,” but more commonly referred to by a vulgar term which doesn't bear repetition here. The subjects that come under discussion are as varied as the vagaries of life itself, and are debated with a like variety of emphasis and vehemence. A “discussion” may be anything from a quiet exposition of opinion and an equally quiet assent to a conceited conception, and a violent argument—or anything in between. Surprisingly (or is it?) whatever the topics of discussion through the bulk of the evening, they invariably lead up to that ever-intriguing and indefatigable “subject” that forms the “common ground” of Man and Woman. (That's the “nicest” way I am capable of putting it)—and truth to tell, I can't conceive of a more entertaining topic. The boys as a rule, aren’t the least but squeamish about rehashing their “adventures” in the most minute detail; indeed, they never enjoy themselves better than when they can recount a particularly lurid story to a group of invariably interested listeners. You are probably wondering what part I play in these little tableaux. Frankly, I talk and expostulate probably more than anyone in the hut—up to a point. When it (the conversation) gets around to the “ultimate subject,” I am forced to shut up and listen. Not that I am such a prude that I would disdain to talk in like vein—not a bit of it! The simple truth is I am way out of my class in that particular league. Any story I might tell in that connection would be an insipid thing, indeed, in such company, ’cause some of the boys, although years younger than I, have really “gotten around.” Sometimes, when things are oppressingly quiet in the hut, and most of the guys are in an introspective mood, I’ll deliberately “pick” an argument. My chief foil among the guys is McFarlin, so, when “in the mood” to stir things up a little, I simply park myself beside Mac, and in the most aggravating tone I can muster, say “Well, Mac, Whaddya think you know?” That does it! From then ’til “lights out” there is plenty of give and take with everyone “putting his oar in.” Once the lights are out, the talk dies quickly, and the hut is quiet except for an occasional snore or someone mumbling in his sleep. Sometimes, one of the fellows comes in late after a night of imbibing—and a little (sometimes a lot) the worse for wear. Invariably, such a one will suffer a misadventure in the small hours of the morning. The next morning, he is the target for unmerciful, ribbing. He is scorned, taunted, condemned, and insulted by guys who, more often than not, have been guilty of the same misdemeanor more times than once. This latter “activity” is by way of being the favorite sport around here. Everyone, me included, takes a savage delight in heaping coals of fire on a “sinner's” head. The “sinner,” on the other hand, will assume an exaggerated attitude of outraged innocence. Anyone not in the “know” would be tremendously impressed with our deadly serious miens, our blasphemous. flaying of the offender, and the equally blasphemous defense of the persecuted one. Inwardly, though, we're having ourselves one helluva good time, and laughing at ourselves and each other. 

I don't know how all this will strike you, Chippie, but aside from the amusement we derive from certain aspects of our Army life, I know we are all learning valuable lessons in human nature and human behavior. Most important, we learn to respect the other fellow's point-of-view on every basic subject. My own personal opinion is that tolerance is the most sadly neglected tenet in the world today. The Army, all unwittingly, in forcing groups of men to live together, has done much to eradicate the biggest obstacle in the course of human progress—intolerance. In many respects, this war will prove a beneficent factor in the history of civilization. I daresay I will have reason to point out the truth of this even in our time. 

All the foregoing just about “cleans up” everything I have to say for now. Except, of course, that I love you above everything, my Evvie, and if I took the pains to tell you in detail everything that my love for you embraces and signifies, and makes significant—well, I should never finish writing. Tell our sweet little Adele (my own punkin), how her daddy adores her and how he will spare no effort to make life sweet for her. Tell her that her dad's every thought and action is prompted by his love for his two girls and God willing will someday tender more concrete evidence of that love than his daily letters signed

Your Phil 

P.S. My love to all. 

February 24, 1944 

Dear Long-pants,

Owing to recently received information and in respect to your present stature, I hereby forswear the appellation of “short-pants” and apply the more apt cognomen you see above. 

Seriously, Jack, I was more than surprised at your rapid development. I was positively dumbfounded. With your added height and weight you shouldn't have any trouble at all making the varsity teams this year. Best of luck! 

Yours is the kind of letter I love to get, because I don't have to think twice about what to write. I simply answer all your questions: 

No, we, i.e., I do not indulge in any form of athletics whatever, unless you include stud poker in that category. Yes, I finally managed to meet Eddie in London. He looks O.K. No, I don't think he got any taller. No, neither did I (and have a care who you're calling “shrimp”—I don't draw the line at 5" 10-1/2" and can still make a certain second string center wish he were inches taller and pounds heavier!) Judging the English “beauties” by our standards, I would say—not nearly! No, I haven't seen any of the famous Hollywood stars—except in the movies (and I see all of them). So far, the only person I knew back in the States that I have met in the ETO is Eddie—but I'm still hoping to contact the others whom I know are “over here.” Yes, I hear quite a few of the “popular songs”—but not the very latest. Thanks for your offer in this connection, Jack, but they make me homesick and I'd rather not hear them for that reason. I manage to follow the sports news pretty closely, thanks to the “Stars and Stripes,”—and thanks again. 

Well, Big boy, I trust I have answered all your questions to your satisfaction. Don't hesitate to send along a fresh batch. I promise to answer promptly. Keep punchin’, Jackson. Give my love to all. Wishing you all the best. I am 

Affectionately, 
Brother Phil

February 24, 1944 

Dear Strongin family, 

How’re you all? Yep this is me Lee writing from way down south in Tenn. 

We received your lovely letter Eve and sure were glad to hear from you. You remember me Eve I'm the other half of Len. I know I should write more often, but will make up for it when the war is over by seeing you more often. 

Gee, we sure would like to see your sweet little girl (or should I say big). She must be the cutest thing. 

I'm glad to hear Phil is fine. Give him our best rewards and say we'll be seeing him soon when this war is over. I headed the letter Strongin family, although I'm writing mainly to you Eve. 

Len and I are just fine here and are slowly but surely getting used to it down here, although we can't complain and I won't. 

I'm not working here, for I can't get a job that's half decent, so I manage on my allotment and Len’s pay fairly well. We live in the outskirts of town, it's really beautiful here, just like the country and all the homes are brand new. We have a beautiful room in the home of two sisters whose husbands are in the army and they both have babies, both boys, one is 4 months old and the other is 7 months old. They are just the cutest things, especially the one who is 4 months, he's so chubby and sweet, I can just eat him up. 

I’m able to cook all my meals in, so that helps a lot. I'm with the girls all afternoon and we go places together and make our meals together. Len comes home every evening for supper and sleeps home every night and is up 5:30 every morning except Sunday, which is his day off. You can see from this that we have no kick coming, not right now anyway. 

Eve, I'm still the same Lee, maybe a little fatter and older, but still the same. Len has gained about 20 pounds and really looks swell. He looked pretty bad after his mom died and so did I, but somehow he picked up a bit and I'm picking up slowly but surely. I guess I'll never be fat or much fatter than I am now anyway. 

How is Mrs. Strongin feeling? Fine we hope. 

How is Goldie and Harry. They'll be having a family soon, I've heard. Lots of luck to you, Goldie. 

Eve I guess I've finally run out of words, so I'll just have to close this letter. I hope you can read this alright. There is so much that I want to say and it's hard for me to put it in writing. I get so excited, but I guess this will do. 

Our best Love and Regards to you all 

Love, 
Len and Len.