Post #325 - March 20, 1944 I Feel as Though I’ve Matured in Those Three Years Into Womanhood and Our Love has been Tested in the Harsh Crucible of War

 

March 20, 1944

(three years) 

Beloved Darling, 

"Our" big night is here again, our third. My only wish tonight is that our fourth will find us reunited or about to be reunited. I feel as though I've matured in those three years into womanhood. I've experienced and learned many things, mostly, I think, to my advantage. Don't you think I've changed a lot? You have changed too, for the better. I guess "love" does that to people, the desire to be right and to be loved completely. As time goes by, I realize how lucky I was. You were the best thing that could ever have happened to little immatured me. They say it's not wise for a girl of 18 to marry at that age, but if the marriage is as successful as ours is, then it's okey dokey with me and my daughter. What do you say, baby? 

I remember our first anniversary clearly. Did you ever really know how happy and surprised I was? I shall never, never forget that particular moment when I discovered the box of jewelry in among the lovely bouquet of gladiolas. I never dreamt that you could surprise me so completely and I loved it. Perhaps it was because I never expected it of you. You never were too sentimental. The Army seems to have made a regular sentimentalist out of you and it's perfectly alright with me, especially where I'm concerned. Later in the evening you fell asleep and that was that. I'm hoping I'll never have trouble with your sleeping habits once you return. It always threw me off, cause you were rested and I was tired. I had to work twice as hard to keep up with you. I certainly wouldn't be able to do it now. I have a picnic keeping up with Adele let alone keeping up with you. I wouldn't mind knocking myself silly right this moment, if only you were here. I doubt, though, if I’d do you much good, cause I fell off last night and felt lousy all night and all day. 

Your three back letters of March 1, 2, and 3 were in the mails this morning (the free ones) and saved me from being disappointed. There was also an anniversary card from the family. My sister gave me a white crepe blouse, tailored with a scalloped collar and pocket, long sleeves, that is quite attractive. 

We had another heavy snowstorm today, to make matters worse. We had more snow these past two days than we did all winter. It's fairly thick and I have no desire to go out at all. It's freezing cold. 

My father finally landed a refrigerator for my Mom. He happened to see an ad in the Sunday papers and decided to follow it up. It's a 1942 model G.E., practically brand new. Besides that, the same family had a lovely maple bed and bureau for sale and my dad bought that too, all for $215. My grandmother is leaving us (you can just imagine how sorry we all are!) shortly and my mom would have been without a refrigerator again. She's elated about the whole thing, and I don’t blame her. The maple set is for Ruth. Ruth had her hair done at the beauty parlor the other day - gettin' to be a glamour babe. 

After I finished writing to you last might, I wrote to Milton and then a *thank you" letter to Goldie's folks. I hope you'll get the opportunity to get that Jewish letter off to them in the near future. Then I caught up on my pressing, which had accumulated. While pressing the last piece I felt funny and knew that I was unwell. I made some progress on the sleeves of Mom's sweater today and hope to finish the whole sweater shortly. 

Harry just returned from a second visit to the doctor and he has been put on a diet. He weighs 221 lbs. Everyone around here is trying to reduce except me. I guess the only way I'll ever gain weight is by getting pregnant. Who's giving who ideas? 

Adele says "Har ra" for Harry. She was a mess today, just cause I wanted to rest a little. She wet her pants and even "went" in her pants, for which she was soundly paddled. I couldn't wait til I got her into bed this evening. 

I called Dot and we chewed the rag awhile. Snuff has been making $80 per week and it's going to be quite a change for Dot. From $80 per week to $80 per month. She's going to pay her mother $40 per month. She says we'll get together more often once Snuff goes away. 

There isn't much else to say, baby, so I shall close now with the earnest wish and prayer that I'll be saying I LOVE YOU in your ear softly in the near future. Phil, darling, I want so to put my arms about you, hold you, caress you and make love to you this evening. I wonder why!?? Guess it's really love, huh? Three big kisses, one from each of your women, me, Adele and Mom.

Your Eve

P.S. Goldie's baby is due June 9th and I've mentioned it before.

P.P.S. I'm glad you got the package of Stevens candy and the hankies. I've mailed two packages since then.

20 March 1944

Beloved Chippie,

Today, as you no doubt are well aware, is an important date for “us.” On this, the third anniversary of our marriage, I deem it fitting and proper that I renew my marital vows to love, honor and cherish the girl who has, in the three years of marriage, proved herself as wife and mother worthy of the greatest measure of my devotion. I want you to know, darling, that I am most humbly grateful for the privilege of calling you wife. I have had occasion many times over in the time since we made our vows to each other before God, to thank Him for sending you to me and for making me worthy in your eyes. Our love has been tested in the harsh crucible of war, sickness, separation, adverse domestic conditions and the torturing experience of childbearing. Through it all, I was acutely attentive to the state of our relationship. I doubt if you were aware at any time that I was constantly on the alert for the least sign of deterioration in our love for each other. Certainly many unions have been breached by less potent forces. Yet it may be said of our own that the ties between us were bound ever tighter by each succeeding trial. We have found our strength in each other. May it ever be so! Now, more than ever before, I am in the signally peculiar position of being able to consider our association objectively. I see a young couple in a far-away living room, standing before the Rabbi, and pledging themselves to each other forevermore. I see them dressed in their finest, huddled close together on a New York-bound bus; impatient for the privacy of the hotel room; impatient to pick up the thread of the future; thrillingly in love with love—and each other. I can see that same groom, a scant 10 weeks later, weary and thirsty and distracted; literally pushing his body through the rigors of Infantry field training; hating the everlasting trekking through the Maryland woods; the burning summer sun, the throat parching dust, the tedious hours of lying in ditches, the bite of gravel on knees and elbows, crawling through mud (and worse), cursing the flaming sun one day and chill rain the next. Through it all, counting the minutes ’til week-end leave when he would be free to hurry home to an ailing wife and a bedridden mother waiting in a dingy apartment. I see that bride tossing on a bed of pain, waiting, waiting for the loving arms of her soldier husband, hating a world that could breed so much of pain and loneliness and sordidness together with the wonders of love and beauty; praying fearfully that the Army would see fit to return to her, in her sore need, her absent husband. I see that gloriously happy moment of homecoming for the soldier; the wonderful resurgence of hope and initiative; the happy, exciting days of home seeking, shopping for furniture for the new home; the distinctive thrill of planning and decorating; the pride of possession; the unbounded satisfaction of a job well done. I see the bride and groom blissful in their new environment; proud as punch of themselves, and each other; knowing all the while that someday the soldier would be recalled to the Army to do his share for his country at war; snatching the little joys of the moment with one eye on the mail-box, and savoring each morsel of pleasure to the utmost. I see the young people studying long hours the crucial question of the advisability of bringing a child into a world of chaos and war. I see the soldier taking his courage and convictions in both hands and persuading the undecided and apprehensive bride that to deny themselves the right to progeny was a tacit admittance of cowardice and defeat; a supreme concession to the enemy, and a crime against nature and the unborn child. I see the understanding born of love and faith in her mate overcoming the doubts and fears and prejudices of the wife, inspiring her to even greater measures of sacrifice; imbuing her with a new fortitude and sense of triumph. I see the prospective young mother bidding a tearless and inevitable farewell to her soldier—at last, returning to his duty—painfully cognizant that his adoring young wife would be suffering all the travail of childbirth within a scant nine or ten weeks. I see the soldier, nine weeks later, making the long trip home on three-day leave; happy once again in the arms of his beloved Chippie; happy in the company of family and friends; laughing with the rest of the jesting crowd in the cab hospital-bound; derisively unbelieving of the doc’s assertion that his wife’s symptoms indicated the imminent arrival of the baby; stunned at the impact and significance of what was happening; pacing (in spite of himself and his privately a pre-determined conception of how he would comport himself at the crucial time) the hospital corridors; worrying the hospital personnel with incessant inquiries; contemplating the five-minute old infant in the arms of the nurse and trying very hard to believe that this was his very own daughter, and failing widely in his earnest efforts to convince himself. I see the young father making a nuisance of himself; belaboring each passing nurse and doctor with his anxiety for the welfare of the new mother; looking with heart-stopping dread at the waxy pallor of her in her exhausted unconsciousness; sitting at her bedside with the fright so big in him that he almost forgot to breathe; living again only when his beloved began to show signs of life. I see the soldier moving with the company to a “staging area”; rushing to his comparatively near-by home in the summer evenings; delighting in the “little girl” look of the mother of his beauteous Adele; chafing with impatience on those evenings when he was unable to leave the post; reveling in each precious moment with his more than ever, adored wife and glorying with her in the perfection of their newest and dearest acquisition. Finally, I see the soldier on a troop ship bound for England, together with thousands of his counterparts.

Further than this, my darling, I cannot contemplate “us” objectively. The soldier is too pressingly “me,” and the young wife too realistically “you.”

I have outlined the high spots of the three years since our marriage solely to prove to you that I have ample cause for my conviction that I am singularly fortunate in possessing a wife that's a paragon of all the womanly virtues. As time goes by, you give me Increasing justification and incentive and reason for loving you. Thus, when I say I love you three years more than when I married you, you shouldn't have any trouble understanding the phrase.

I grant you, Sweet, that our third anniversary could not be rightly called a happy one, but you should bear in mind that it might have been worse—much worse. Let us be grateful for the fact that the future is ours, and look to it with the faith and confidence you displayed when you when I left for the Army last September, 1942.

In closing, I want you to know that I have every confidence in our eventual re-union, and that, not too far in the future. Certainly the bulk of our time of separation has been passed. We are on the way home, Sweet. Keep well and happy and see to it that Adele is a true reflection of your loving care and a credit to the principles which were responsible for her being. Keep yourself the same loving wife and lovable Chippie as always—for me

Your Phil 

Post #324 - March 19, 1944 Ethel Went to the Hospital for 24 Hours, But It Was a False Alarm and I Hope You Aren’t One of Those Dizzy Females that Swoons When Frank Sinatra Croons

 

March 19, 1944 

Precious Phil, 

I addressed the envelope to this letter last night, but never got to write the letter. Why? You shall learn presently. 

Nothing newsworthy to mention of Friday night and all day Saturday. I was out with Adele all morning til it got cloudy and started to rain. Jack gave her a ride on his bicycle and she loved it. 

I did have a letter from Syd and an anniversary card from Gloria. 

In the evening Harry, Goldie and Mom were all home (quite unusual) and I decided there was no sense to my staying in too. Sarah, Betty and the gang were going to a party and had to get off at 60th St., so I called Dot and surprised her and myself by making the trip out. I hadn't finished with Adele until almost 8 P.M. and had to rush a bit to go along with the crowd. Good ole West Philly made me feel strong pangs of nostalgia and I almost felt myself slipping once again. Many times I sort of lapsed into a coma and must have been God knows where (I'll give you one guess). Shortly after I arrived and had chattered a bit with the members of the family, Dot, Snuff, Naomi and myself went to the Mayfair to see "Whistling in Brooklyn" with Red Skelton and it did make me laugh a little. Back to the house for coffee and cake and I left about 12:30. I made excellent connections and arrived home at 1:15. Adele was very good and slept til I got back. She woke twice during the rest of the night.

 

Dot made, a gorgeous purple crocheted handbag and Dutch cap that I hope to duplicate in red whenever I get the opportunity. 

I think one of her sentences sums up her feelings at present entirely "When the war is over, I want to go for myself, even if it's two lousy rooms!” She'll be crowded for space and you know how hard it is to be neat when such is the case. Dot always did like to be neat, especially about the house and I guess I'm the same way. When my home is neat and clean I feel mighty good and content. It must be my nature.

Ethel went the hospital for 24 hrs. but it was a false alarm and she came back. Reminds me of that Saturday night I went to the hospital. I thought sure I'd be discharged the next morning. Little did I know! 

Etta and Nat were over this afternoon. Both look grand and send their regards. They were playing with Adele and think she is "gorgeous". Etta says she intends to quit working early summer, furnish her apartment completely and take a month's vacation down the shore. 

Believe it or not it is snowing heavily. The mercury dropped suddenly and we are now having cold weather. 

I've tried to finish Mom's sweater but can't seem to make much headway. I have a good portion of the sleeves completed. 

Adele continues to arise at an unearthly hour. She says lots of things now, many are merely good attempts at words. She said "sleep tight" pretty clearly tonight, repeating Mom's original. When I say to her, "What is Momma going to do to you if you are bad?" she smacks her hands herself. Phil, sometimes when I sit and watch her play I wonder what your reaction to this or that would be. She is a pleasant sight and has the cutest ways. She has a nice little figure and pretty legs (I particularly wonder about your reaction to that) and looks eatable when she bends over to pick something up and her little panties show. 

I've been having difficulty getting a sizable letter written of late and hope you'll understand if they are brief at times. Everything is so routine and unnewsworthy of late. 

I might mention that I wore my fur coat and hat, my brown patent high-heeled shoes, new brown bag, white kid gloves and that silk dress Sarah gave me last night. Mom says the outfit is very rich looking. Dot asked me if I feel rich in it. I said "No". I said if you were beside it I might feel that way. 

I shall be terribly disappointed if there isn't a pile of mail for me tomorrow morning - from you. There are at least five letters coming to me and I'm hoping they'll come through tomorrow as a sort of anniversary consolation. Hope you have luck, too, sweetness. 

I have your next package wrapped and ready to be mailed but it will have to wait til some of this snow disappears before I make the trek up to Broad St. It's getting higher and higher. 

I was "due" yesterday and there isn't any sign as yet. I had planned to go to C(lare). P(ruett). tomorrow as a sort of remembrance of our anniversary, but the snow will 

prevent that. I'd rather wait, anyway, til my face is perfectly clear as it usually is once I get unwell. 

I'm very hungry for the sight of you this evening, my darling, and before I go "off" into another coma I’ll sign off with all my deep and loving adoration for the sweetest, dearest husband in the world. 

Your Eve

March 19, 1944

Eve, dearest,

Still “sweating out” the jack-pot. The only letter today's mail brought me was one from Eddie dated 12 March. He was unable to set a date for another meeting 'cause they're only allowed 30-hour passes—and then only on week-ends. He is, as yet, unfamiliar with train schedules, etc., and doesn't quite know whether he can manage it or not. In closing, he asked me to sit tight until he could get more definite information.

Last night, as you know, Moats, Klein and myself took the “liberty run” (the nightly trip via trucks to a nearby town). This made the fourth time I have been to this particular town. The first time was for the occasion of the company party; then I attended Chanukah and Purim Services there. I wish I could tell you something of the place, Chippie, but as I have yet to see it by daylight, the only impression I brought away was one of streets that inclined at every angle but level. After scouting about a bit, we decided to go to the “Hippodrome” to see a show billed as “Variety.” It so happened that the place was “booked” to capacity for a week ahead, but there was standing-room. Rather than traipse about looking for a cinema, we decided to stand. The place was jammed to the doors, and there were scores of people standing patiently waiting for the show to begin. We took our places against the left-hand wall and waited. However, this arrangement didn't please the irrepressible Klein, and he took off to talk to the old lady who was serving as usherette. It was his intention to offer her a bribe if she would accommodate us with seats. The old lady listened to his offer, and promised to procure the first three seats for him as soon as the show should start. She was as good as her word, and no sooner had the lights gone down, when she approached us to let us know there was a single seat. At the same time, she promised to find two more in a few minutes. Klein and Moats told me to take the single, so without too much urging I permitted the usherette to show me to my seat. When I offered her a tip, she wouldn't take it (and a florin ain't hay); when I persisted, she shook her head impatiently and almost pushed me into the seat. Hard to figure the English. They're not averse to asking a total stranger for a piece of “Yank gum” or a “fag” (cigarette), but too proud to take a two-shilling tip. You figure it out. I can't! Neither would she accept Klein’s proffered tip when she found two seats for them a few minutes later. Maybe her conscience wouldn't let her make us pay for the dubious privilege of seeing the show. It was putrid, and she probably figured we had paid quite enough when we paid 1/6 for our tickets to get in. This (30¢) was very cheap for a theater ticket over here, but the show was hardly worth even that. It consisted of nine mediocre vaudeville acts that would have been hooted off the stage in any theater in the States. I won't waste time and space enlarging on the show, which was a great disappointment. When we got out, it was just after ten o'clock, and we were hungry, having passed up supper. All the pubs were either closed or just closing. So we hunted a place where we could get “fish n’ chips.” The “hunting” consisted of Klein stopping every female that happened by, and inquiring as to where such a place was to be found. We were directed to three different places, only to find them closed. Finally, when we had given up hope, a young civilian offered to take us to a place (he was on his way there, anyhow). After a short walk, we found ourselves in a small, but spotless store, whose sole stock-in-trade was “fish n’ chips.” The place was so crowded that Moats and I waited outside while Klein shopped. Crowds are no barrier to Klein, and he was out within 5 minutes carrying enough “chips” (french-fried potatoes cut in strips) to feed a dozen men. As it turned out, a dozen men (in the truck) helped us eat them. I had my fill, though, and arrived back in Camp feeling tired, but definitely not hungry.

I was kept fairly busy all day today typing. Nothing happened to change the usual routine and, as a consequence, there is nothing new to report. The picture tonight is “Higher and Higher” with Frank Sinatra. I don't think I'll go. By the way, Chippie, I’d hate to think you share the general feminine concept that “the Voice” is a fitting object for overt manifestations of adoration. In other words, I hope you aren't one of those dizzy females that swoons when he croons. How about it?—(and the answer better be the right one)!

I'm getting drowsy now, so I think I'll take a nap until it's time to go to bed. (I can see you very plainly, Sweet. You're shaking your head pityingly and saying “Still the same old Phil—”). Be that as it may—I love you no whit less than “the

same old Phil”

P.S. Love to all.

Post #323 - March 18, 1944 There is a Calm and Peaceful Air About this Place that Somehow Seems Incongruous with Its Purpose

March 18, 1944. 

Dearest Evvie,

What little mail there was today just came in, and it's just another day for me. 

Today was as all days. I rose at the same time as yesterday and the day before, went through the same motions, saw the same scenes, even thought the same thoughts. The monotony of the never-changing routine is stultifying, and I'm beginning to feel the effects. Sooo—tonight I am going to break a precedent and go with the “liberty run” to a nearby town where I shall feast my eyes on something other than Nissen Huts and hangers and bicycles and airplanes. I may take an in a movie if I can find one I haven't seen. Just to get away for a few hours from the too-familiar sights of the station will be enough to snap me out of the creeping lethargy which is the product of the monotony and the Spring, which has finally arrived with all its attending symptoms. 

It's just 2:45. The Company Area and the Orderly Room are deserted—except for myself. The sound of planes is ever-present either from the ground or droning in the skies overhead. I think it is this constant tune of plane motors that makes us feel so safe and secure that we hardly ever stop to think that not so far away men are fighting and dying. There is a calm and peaceful air about this place that somehow seems incongruous with its purpose. War and its attending horrors is just something we read about in the newspapers. Occasionally one of the fellows, bored almost beyond endurance with the humdrum existence we lead here, will sound off and curse the fate that condemned him to the ETO. At such times, however, there are other more appreciative fellows around to point out to such a one that the boys fighting and freezing in the muck and mire of Italy's trenches aren't so well off either and would gladly trade places with him. The grumbler doesn't have much to say after he is faced with this argument, and usually concedes that he is “better off” than most. 

I am purposely writing this earlier than is my practice 'cause I won't get a chance later in the evening. I still have to shave, clean up, shine my shoes, etc. Tell you tomorrow how I spent the few hours tonight. 

Well baby, that's about all for today. Give my love to all and then cut off a big slice for yourself. I adore you, Sweet, and wish with all my heart that I were going out with you tonight instead of a couple of G.I.’s (Klein and Moats). I'll be thinking of you every moment, that is certain. Au Revoir, my darling. 

Your Phil 

Post #322 - March 17, 1944 There Isn’t a Person in this Block that Doesn’t Have His or Her Own Business and Ruthie Certainly Isn’t Wasting Any Time Growing Up!

 

March 17, 1944 

 

Sweetheart, 

Yours of March 8 was the lone piece of mail I received today. What the devil is holding up that mail!! I am going to comment on some parts of your letter.

You asked why I failed to comment on your suggestion for a hat for my fur coat. I covered that little item a long time ago, if you will remember. I told you Gloria gave me a brown off-the-face fur trimmed hat that goes perfectly with my coat and that I had given up the idea of buying a hat this season. Furthermore, I don't have one large piece of fur to make a hat. I only have two small skeins of fur, enough to trim a hat. Hope that takes care of your inquiries. What's the use of my writing these things if you continually overlook them? 

Then you say what do I mean by saying that we need to furnish a house. Well, is that all you think we need to furnish "our” house? Let's start with our bedroom. We need at least a dozen things in that room alone to make it complete, such as electric clock, picture frames, new perfume tray (the one you promised to buy me to replace the broken one) chaise lounge, vanity lamps, lamp shade covers, washable bedspread, radiator covers, miniature radio, etc. Then what about our daughter? Don't you think she'll be entitled to her own bedroom and bedroom set. Don't you want your chest of drawers for your own use? Our rugs are worn (badly) and we'll need new ones. Our entire kitchen needs refurnishing, linoleum, kitchen set (I want to return my mother's set as she has the other piece and it will finish off her kitchen), gas range (our present one isn't so hot) and we could use a refrigerator of late design. We also need a new set of curtains badly and a few good pots and pans. And what about the porch? or doesn't that count? And the bathroom needs a carpet of bright color, a new shower curtain and most of all - a good coat of paint. I've not mentioned the dining room, but I hate the present set and would like 

to have my own set some day, if I have a dining room at all. The kitchen, too, is sorely in need of painting. This house has gotten so dirty and shabby that I doubt whether you would recognize it as far as paints are concerned. Now do I make myself clear? I forgot all about a radio-phonograph combination for the living room, plus all those accessories you mention.

I heard of that $4500 "bonus" but I find it difficult to count on any such predictions. Perhaps it will be so and if it is then I am only too willing to "tie up duplex apartments.” I've also thought a great deal of our going into a business for only in business do you really make money and live accordingly. There is not a person in this block that doesn't have his or her own business.

I forgot to tell you at Al is trying to get Harry into a station on his own or to aid him (Al). Harry is very, very secretive about his finances as well as his plans for the immediate future and all I know is what I happen to overhear. I've often wondered whether you would be interested in pooling with the Nerenbergs in a line of Photography since you do seem to have an interest in it. I remember Jack's once asking us whether we would lend him sufficient money to start anew after he had broken with his partner, saying he would make it up in a short time. Would you? 

Before I forget it - I bought a playpen today. I was cleaning up the porch and happened to come across an ad in the Beacon, the local newspaper, which stated "almost new playpen - $7.50. I called and it was still for sale. The seller lives at 4901 N. Broad St., third floor, above the drugstore at Broad & Rockland. It is exactly like the former one, only in almost new condition. She gave it to me for $5 without å pad. I called a cab (Ruth was with me) and it cost me 50¢ more to get it home. Wonder of wonders Adele stayed in the pen most of the day, although she did cry when we put her in the second time. The first time she admired the new pen and wanted to be put in. Ethel has a pad she’ll lend me and I’ll probably give her the pen after I finish with it this fall. My dad will have to nail an extra board under the floor for extra support as Adele's weight has a sagging tendency on the middle of the floor. The floor is heavy compoboard (spelling???) and has hinges on the sides that permit the floor to be folded against the sides. There goes my $5 birthday gift.

 

That hichair my mother promised me is only 25 years old. It's very old fashioned, but sturdily built. I won't need it for more than three months after Ethel takes hers, so I guess it will have to do. It wouldn't pay to buy a hichair now. We'll buy everything modern and new for the next one, won't we, sweet? We'll have to, or else no dice. 

Just learned that Ben is also on New Guinea. I wonder if he'll meet up with Jack?

 

Goldie's father sent her a $10 check for her birthday. He also had a lovely all leather handbag made up special for her by someone in Poughkeepsie that manufactures handbags. A handbag of that type would cost her about $15 if she would purchase it at retail price here in Philly. 

Snuffy is in the Navy - passed today. He will leave about April 7. Dot and he are going to New York to make the most of their last days together. Just room to send all my love and adoration to my adored Phil. 

Your Eve

March 17, 1944.

My Darling,

This afternoon's mail brough only Dottie's letter of 21 Feb. and I'm getting impatient for word from you. Dottie asked me to answer immediately and since I was loafing anyhow, I was only too glad to oblige.

Today I was even more inactive than yesterday. There is very little to do around the Orderly Room these days, and I was taking advantage of the lull to catch up with my correspondence. In the past three days I have written to Jack S. Jack N., and Dottie. Tomorrow, if I have time, I hope to write to Syd Brown. About 5 March, I wrote to Eddie, asking him to set the date for our next meeting, but as yet I have not heard from him. I think he is finding it difficult to get a pass, but is reluctant to write until he is sure one way or the other. I have already passed up two passes this month and it is just a month since I have been off the Post (except for Purim services in Norwich on the 9th). The monotony of the routine is beginning to pall, and I feel the need of a change of scene. But I don't expect to take a pass ’til 4th or 5th April, unless I hear from Eddie before then. I can't understand why I haven't heard from Jack Gutkin. I wrote to him in the early part of February (twice) fully expecting to hear from him long before this. ((Which reminds me that I must answer Anne Furr’s V-mail.)

She says that her brother-in-law is here in England. Sol is still with Betty, so she must mean Moe Brand. I didn't think they would take him, considering his family status and varicose veins. Is it possible I am mistaken? Or - what?

You implied in a recent letter that Ethel is expecting her baby sometime in March. I was wondering if the newcomer had arrived yet. Have they decided on a name for him? I guess Mom will have to postpone her trip to New York until Ethel is up and about again.

Your Mom must be very busy these days, but then she always is. Nevertheless, I had expected to hear from her before this. Drop her reminder - will you, Sweet? How does your Dad like his new job and how is he progressing? Did the kids receive my letters? I have had no acknowledgement from either them or you. Ruthie certainly isn't wasting any time growing up! I was surprised to hear that she is going out on dates. Does she have a favorite beau yet? Whaddya mean she makes you feel old? A woman is only as old as her man makes her feel. You are still my Chippie and as long as I treat you as such you don't flatter me by admitting you feel old. If either of us has any justification for feeling that way, then certainly I am the one. As to that, I consider that a man is old in direct ratio to his inclination and capacity for loving. According to these tenets, I am not a day older than when I first met you. My passion for you is in no way diminished, my darling, and my capacity for loving you—well, you shall see, you shall see. Anyway, I don't really believe that you meant what you said—you're just looking for sympathy. As long as you are able to do what you do to me—you don't get it from me—you don't need it!

I'll sign off now, Sweet, with the parting wish that the day be not too far distant when I shall be free to hold you close as I was wont to do, and whisper my adoration to your receptive ear, as I would give much to do—again. Kiss my little girl—and tell her that her dad loves her very, very much. Teach her that she is not to treat him as a stranger when he comes home to her, ’cause that would just about break his heart. Love to all from

Phil

 

Post #321 - March 15, 16, 1944 I Had to Call 12 Shoe Stores Before I Hit One That Had Adele’s Size in Stock and I Felt Impelled to Tender What Little Inspiration I Could on the Approaching Occasion of Your 22nd Birthday

 

March 15, 1944

 

Dearest Evvie, 

Just received your typewritten V-mail of 3 March so am replying in kind. Any time you feel like writing V-mail that way, Sweet, I won't complain, 'cause you certainly can squeeze plenty of type into this form. I’m missing your letters of the 1st and 2nd, and hoping they show up tomorrow. You say you gave the “new coat” to the tailor for cleaning and lengthening of the sleeves. Is that the beige top-coat you were thinking of buying - or the new fur coat? It has me puzzled. If it's the former then why the cleaner? If the latter why the tailor and not the furrier? I give up! No I don't! I just got an idea. It must be the beige topcoat. Why the cleaner? Why because the light material showed the marks of being handled in the shop! (Now can I move up to the head of the class, teacher!) 

The minute I saw your V-mail so neatly and cleanly typed I thought, at last the typewriter is fixed! From the look of the type, I would say that you have a new ribbon also. Although the print is tiny, it is very legible. I guess one of the two missing letters will straighten me out on both points. 

When I read that you had procured a whole box of Milky Ways from Ben and were sending it of "tomorrow" I almost yelled for joy. When I receive that particular package, l'll be the envy of the whole darn Army. That, my Sweet, is a prize of the first water. You have a mistaken idea, Ev, if you think that I am a candy-hog. I can understand why you have that impression, but you are overlooking the true reasons behind my constant pleas for candy. First, you must understand that it is well-nigh impossible to get any more sweets here in England then our regular weekly ration, which is usually one (1) chocolate bar of some kind, and a coupla bars of peppermints or some other hard candy. Secondly, you must bear in mind that it is one of the very few things that we have no way of getting in even moderate quantity. Finally, you must take into consideration the fact that it takes almost two months for a package to arrive from the States. Now, do you begin to understand my "unseemly" clamoring after candy - and nothing else? (Lest I forget - Request: Please send the package of candy. ) 

Glad to hear that "Spring, beautiful Spring" has finally come to good ole Philly. How about meeting me on the bench in front of the house at 5 P.M. sharp? I’ll be sitting on the end nearest the porch. Look for me there, will you, Chippie? I'm going to take it for granted it's a date.

 

This morning, having the most of my work cleaned up, I found time to write a real "longie” to brother Jack. Consequently, I feel much better this evening. Tomorrow I'll try to get one off to Jack N., and perhaps Dottie, if I can manage it. 

Glad to hear that the punkin is getting steadier on her pins. The picture of you holding her by the hand and walking in the Spring sun up Sycamore-lined Eighth Street, is a very pretty one. God grant I’ll be able to join you before the sunshine gives way to the gray skies and cold winds of Winter! 

Just noticed you asked a question. You want to know if I learned anything from the “others" about that certain subject! What an idea??!! You should be the best judge of whether or not I needed to learn anything. I hope my answer of a flat NO doesn't disappoint you, Chippie. Now I’ll ask you one. Do you know of any point of said subject that I am ignorant of? Is there, perhaps, an indefinable lack that you have felt at some time? If so, I'll make every effort to learn it from the “others". 

Time to tender all my love to the Chippie who when she learned to love - learned everything.

Always,

Your Phil

March 16, 1944

 

Dearest Mine, 

I did not write yesterday and you will learn why shortly. As I told you in Tuesday's letter, I bought Adele shoes yesterday. I got off to a good start Wednesday morning and was expecting Sarah to accompany me, but she couldn't. I had to call 12 shoe stores before I hit one that had her size in stock and then I ran like hell. 

It was Goldstein's,1004 South St. I went alone and damn near died of exhaustion. My insides still ache. I thought sure I had ruptured myself, even though I made Adele do more walking than she ever did. She practically walked from here to 5th St. with me picking her up at intervals. The ride on the 47 is tiring and since we went up and back with less than a half hour's break it was plain murder. Yesterday and today the weather has been hot - high humidity that has made everyone sweat. She cried half the way back and twisted and turned and the trolley was packed to the doors affording little air. I was getting ill myself. You know what riding on trolley’s does to me. Well, this was no exception, hence my fear of traveling alone with Adele. Baby, I never wished so hard for you to be present! I must have cursed the U.S. Army black and blue. She was waring a 4-1/2 EE and now she's wearing a 5-1/2 D. She had been misfitted the last time and her feet were uncomfortable in the short too wide shoes. The fellow there said that if anyone fitted his kid that way he'd put them in prison. He said EE was for kids that weigh about 50 lbs, and can't stand on their feet. The shoes are good looking white buckskin and cost $3.50. I even called the Walk-Easy shop on Chestnut Street that charges $6 a pair and couldn't get a thing. If I have any trouble whatever with these shoes I shall take her to a foot doctor. By the way, Dot’s Aunt worked at Goldsteins and referred me to the fellow who knew the most about fitting children's shoes. Otherwise I would have gone straight to a doctor. No wonder the poor kid wasn't walking properly and kept falling. These shoes have done wonders already. This fellow told me not to worry about width in a baby's shoe - but length. Always buy them long was his advice. He said he'd rather let me walk out without shoes rather than sell a misfit and lose a customer. 

I fed and bathed Adele, put her in bed, fell across our bed, and slept for a full two hours. When I awoke my sides and stomach were still aching and it was after nine. I had to wash Adele's sleepers, for I hadn't a single change. Then I went right back to bed. Adele only woke once, otherwise I rested most of the night. I dread the next shoe-buying spree already. Do you blame me? 

I'm really getting ahead of myself for I neglected to mention that Ethel and Al stopped over late Tuesday night. They brought the candy we had ordered from Rae and I shall be mailing off another package most any day, when I can catch my breath. Ethel's baby had dropped and Ethel looked smaller than ever. Her wedding band is plain gold with six chips bunched together across the top like mine, only the chips are a bit larger than mine. It's plain and pretty. We talked til almost 12. I returned the things Ethel gave me and gave her a dozen nipples that I had left from Adele. 

This is the third mailless day again and I can't help wondering at the lack of mail. Do you know, baby, that Ed's mail always is five days old! My mother had a letter from him today dated Mar. 11. He said he was hoping to meet you again and asked for two large requests - a wrist watch and a hunting knife like yours. Whatever happened to your letters of Mar 1 2 3 5 and after the 7? Gosh but the lack of mail kills me! C'mon sumpin'! 

Tonight Mom gave each Goldie and I $5 for a birthday gift. I felt terrible about accepting it, but I guess she felt good about the new raise. I hope to get a new dress by adding to it, if I can get something nice. And something else that made me feel I pretty good. My Mom has a gold baby ring for Adele and a gold bracelet with a little diamond chip in it. I never thought of mentioning the want of these two items to my Mom - so there now. She'll get them for me first opportunity and Adele will have some jewelry after all. Goldie brought her gold baby ring home from Poughkeepsie and I tried it on Adele. It fit her third finger perfectly and she admired it no end. She could't pull it off either. My mother also I had a lovely gold Jewish star, but I think Ruth wants that. She has a tiny locket, heart-shaped that I wore, but I bit it in several places and she doesn't have a chain for it. Isn’t funny that I never thought of asking her, yet I knew she had something in baby jewelry. I had written to Gloría to inquire of her brother-in-law (the jeweler who has his own company) and he advised her to advise me not to buy anything in the jewelry line. Even Uncle Nish said so. Gloria received your request, but wrote that she thinks the Post office will no longer accept shipments of chocolate for overseas due to the fact that they melt or spoil before arrival. I haven't heard of anything to that effect and asked Lou to inquire for me. Incidentally, the postage rates on air-mail to a soldier will remain 6¢ and it will be 3¢ for local as well as out-of-town mail. That won't run my postage bill any higher, as I had thought it would previously. I don't know what Gloria plans to do. No doubt she'll send it if it is permissable. How has the chocolate I've sent reached you? 

Harry and Goldie had to pay an income tax of $150 excluding the heavy tax being deducted from Harry's pay. Their combined incomes totaled nearly $4000 last year and they claim they haven't much to show for it. The way they spent money it is no wonder - if it is true. Harry has been having trouble with an arkle and went to the doctor. this evening. Ethel asked us to come over for a cake cutting of her anniversary cake but I couldn't get anyone to stay with Adele. Mom and Goldie went a short while ago. Today is Rae's birthday too. Ethel and Mickey bought her a gorgeous pin and earrings - so I hear. 

Ethel told us Tuesday night that Bob Leiberman is in 4-F on account of his hernia. Lena never said a thing. You know Bob.

 

Phil, when I heard of the differences between Ireland and England and the heavy bombing of London recently I felt funny and wished very much that you hadn't been in London. I know you had a two-day pass coming up and that you said you weren't planning on going anywhere this trip, but if you borrowed you might have been there at the time. Need I tell you of my feelings? 

I'm even leary about dragging Adele up to C(lare). P(ruett). but if it's nice next week I'll put her in the walker and wheel her up. I’m more anxious than ever to get the carriage, but my Dad tells me I'll just have to be patient. They are expecting metal ones any day now. Almost all baby things will be made of metal and will be released any day now. Regular carriages made entirely of metal have already been released. 

Baby, mine, it's getting late and I'm terribly anxious to hit the sack, as you would say. I'm not going though, not until I've told you, just once more, that I love you, Phil, more with the passing of each second and minute and hour. A loving kiss from

Your Eve

March 16, 1944.

Darling Chippie,

Since the “longie” of yesterday, very little has happened to warrant my writing, but since it is my custom to do so whenever possible, whether there is anything to write about or not, I'll cudgel my brain for words enough to fill this page.

This morning I finished up the more important work for the month when I turned in the Officers Pay Vouchers to the Finance Office. After tending a few minor matters, I found some time on my hands, so I decided to write that long overdue letter to Jack N. I filled three of these sheets with closely written script, so I don't think he has any room for complaint as to the length of the letter. This took ’til lunch-time. After lunch I had some more “free” time which was spent composing the enclosed birthday greeting. Most of the afternoon was whiled away in this pursuit. (Do I hear you muttering that I wasted my time?) Maybe I did—but since I am unable to offer a more tangible gift under the circumstances, I felt impelled to tender what little inspiration I could on the approaching occasion of your 22nd birthday. Please be lenient with your criticism of my little effort, Sweet, and allow for the fact that I imposed a severe restriction on my range of expression when I determined the first letter of each line before-hand. If the whole thing seems “off-balance,” it is for the same reason. If the whole thing doesn't make sense, at least remember that my intentions were good, and that I was endeavoring to the best of my limited ability to wish you a very happy birthday.

There was no mail for me today and I'm beginning to count the mail-less days again in anticipation of the next batch. Things are pretty dull around here this evening and I'm beginning to feel lazy and sleepy, so you'll excuse me, I know, if I kiss you good-night at this point—and turn in. Kiss my punkin for me. My love to all.

Yours ever-lovingly,

Phil