Post #327 - March 22, 23, 1944 I Kept Remembering Too Much Today and I Saw Some of the Pilots on This Base Receive the DFC and Other Decorations

March 23, 1944

March 22, 1944

My Darling,

I'm sending off this V-mail 'cause I won't have time to write a full-fledged letter tonight. As a matter of fact, Chippie, I don't rightly know what I'd write about. Nothing worth mentioning took place today and it's been more than a week since I had a “real” letter.

Things in general around here are so dull, that for the first time in many moons I am completely at a loss for words enough to fill even this limited space.

Tonight, as I told you in yesterday's letter, I am accompanying Moats and Klein on the “liberty run.” I'll tell you all about tonight's activities in tomorrow's letter. I hope they'll be something to talk about. I'm really not so keen to go anyplace, but I'm even less anxious to hang around the hut.

I don't know what's holding up the mail like this, but I do wish it would start coming through. Please excuse the brevity of this letter, Sweet, but I'm sure you understand the handicap I'm working under.

Plenty of room left to tell you, in great detail, the great extent of my love for you, Baby, but you are still young and impressionable and I hate to lay the basis for conceit in you—so I'll just remind you that I love you very dearly and let your imagination fill in the blank spaces. Kiss the punkin for me. Love to all from

Your Phil

P.S. Whaddya know? I did it again (filled the sheet, I mean)

Dearest Sweetheart, 

No mail (with the exception of some back numbers on Monday) since last Friday and I'm beginning to wonder what, exactly is holding up that mail. I sure do wish something shows up soon cause I’m at a loss of words and can’t seem to get down to some real letter writing. I'm sorry about the V-mail two days in a row, baby, but I'm out of air-mail envelopes and sufficient stamps to write any other way. Besides I'm finding it hard to write at all with the lack of mail. I had a letter from my brother today dated March 12, that contained very little in the way of news. It rained, rained, rained and is still raining for the past 24 hours. My mother may not get the refrigerator cause the party that accepted the deposit may not be able to obtain an apartment she had leased that had a refrigerator. If she gots the apartment with the refrigerator my mother will get her refrigerator and everybody will be happy. Here's hopin'! I cleaned the skylight in the bathroom, the walls, tile and plumbing and floor for a real cleaning and that room fairly sparkles now. I haven't been able to mail the latest package or go to Clair Pruett’s - the weather is against me. At least 

all the snow has disappeared. You were home last year at this time and we were preparing to go to Columbus. I kept remembering too much today and I'm kinda blue this evening. I miss you keenly, even hough we have been separated over seven months. Every once in a while I got a terrific urge to see you and don't 

know what to do with myself. I love you so much, Phil! It’s been so long since I spoke your name! Mind very much if I say it a couple of times? Phil. Phil. Phil. Phil. My Phil! Goo-night, baby, and don't mind if I cuddle up just as close as I always did. A kiss from

Your Eve

23 March1944

Dearest Darling,

Didn't go on the liberty run last night after all. Moats felt a cold coming on (his story) and since the weather wasn't too inviting anyway, Klein and I didn't press him. Instead, he and Klein procured a dozen fresh eggs, and we had a swell time frying and eating them at the Snack Bar. After that, we came back to our hut where Klein, Nicholson and myself played pinochle ‘til lights out.

This morning was spent at the usual routine tasks. In the afternoon I saw some of the pilots on this base received the DFC and other decorations.

This evening there was a USO show (“Flying High”) at the station theater. The MC was Al Bernie, whom I used to pay 35¢ at the Earle to see. (Ain't I lucky?) He was very well received here. His mimicry, posturing, mugging and rapid-fire “line” had the audience in an almost constant uproar. I don't remember when I've ever laughed so hard. The rest of the troupe were: (1) a very personable miss who sang and played the accordion and teased the guys unmercifully with her suggestive songs, wicked smile and eyes that said very naughty things indeed. (2) A singing sister team consisting of one beautiful blonde and one even more beautiful brunette. They sang beautifully, too, together and individually. The sophisticated-looking blonde sang a medley of “sweet” songs, and the innocent-looking brunette obliged with a number entitled “In Paris—it's love” that was so risqué that she had the boys howling. (3) Al Bernie introduced her as a “tremendous artist,”—and he wasn't kidding. Kay Laval (or something like that) is built on the lines of Kate Smith, only more so. Her forte was poking fun at herself and her “husband,” who assisted her and played the marimba to the entire satisfaction of the G.I.’s. (4) A little tap dancer who used her attractive, if muscular, legs to good advantage. (5) Al Bernie himself. His imitations of Charles Boyer, Edw. G. Robinson and Al Jolson were ludicrously exaggerated and very funny. His best effort though, was his take-off on Sinatra. He coughed, retched, and gave every indication of imminent collapse as he staggered through his song. A G.I. “page” walked on bearing a large sign: “If you feel faint—press the buzzer under the seat.” When it appeared that “Sinatra” couldn't last through the number another G.I. walked on to give him a “shot in the arm.” I don't have to tell you how the G.I.’s reacted to this lampooning of their pet aversion. They did everything but roll in the aisles. I laughed ’til I cried. All in all, I had one helluva good time.

Mail is still “among those missing” and something I would very much like to have. Maybe tomorrow (I hope—I hope).

Goodnight for now, my darling. See you tomorrow. You know, of course, that I am still

Your adoring hubby,

Phil

P.S. My love to all. A special kiss for Miss Adele Bara Strongin (bless her li’l heart)! 

 

Post #326 - March 21, 1944 Ben Wrote to Harry W. and Told Him that He Hoped to See our Jack “Real Soon” and Last Night There was a Red Cross Show Here on the Base

 

March 21, 1944 

Dearest Phil, 

No mail at all today and I figure there are about seven letters due me. What in heaven's name is holding it up? God but I'm anxious for some late news! 

Ben wrote to Harry W. and told him that he hoped to see our Jack "real soon". 

I had a pleasant surprise this afternoon when Seymour walked in quickly, handed me $5 "for yesterday" and walked out just as quickly as he had entered. I intend to bank that $5. 

The weather was lovely today in spite of the snow and melted most of it. I shoveled the pavement and the back of the house of the snow. It was actually melted ice. It snowed to a depth of seven to eight inches. There were many accidents due to the slippery roads. 

Miss Hahn called me this evening and wants me to work a half day tomorrow. I've been soliciting orders for her and she pays me a small bonus, besides giving me whatever I buy at cost price. 

When most of the snow had melted I took Adele out in the walker and shopped. I enjoyed the crisp, fresh air and bright sun, refreshing breezes and general springtime touch, even though there was snow on the ground. 

I worked on Mom's sweater last night and it won't be long now before I complete it. It's turning out better than I thought it would. I already know what I'm going to make next. The next item on my list is a vest for Adele, a white one with all ruffled edges. I’ll go into detail about it when I make it. 

I must run now as my mother is washing and is giving me hell for not hanging them when she brings them over. 

I dislike ending so abruptly, sweetheart, but I didn't finish with Adele until 8 P.M. and I'm rushing like mad to get done. Time, though, to say how much I love and adore you, angel mine, and time for a long, lingering kiss. 

Your Eve

21 March 1944

Sweetheart,

Still no mail—and the jack-pot’s piling up. Here it is the 21 of March, and the only letters I have received for this month from you are the V-mails of 3 and 8 March. I'm looking forward to settling down to read about 10 of your letters at one sitting. There's nothing I enjoy more, so you'll have to condone my eagerness. C’mon Sump’n!!

Last night there was a Red Cross show here on the base. The gals (American and British) called themselves “The Minstrel Maids.” There were six of them, all passing fair, but not quite pretty enough to make me homesick (if’n you know what I mean—and you know what I mean!) They put on a pretty good show, but the stars of the show were two guys who clowned the bit and played the banjo and drums. The drummer half of the team was a whiz, stealing Jack Pepper’s famous act and doing it credit. There was a not-so-young babe built on the lines of Sophie Tucker and singing in much the same manner. Her rendition of “Minnie from Trinidad” was enjoyed immensely. On the whole, a very creditable show.

Moats and I just returned from the Snack Bar where we had a coupla sandwiches and coffee. Klein is on guard, Red went to the Liberty Run with McFarlin, and Burdine was too lazy to stir himself, which is all by way of explaining why only the two of us went to the Snack Bar.

I received your V-mail of 8 March on the 20th, but failed to mention it because I was reluctant to spoil the continuity of the “Anniversary letter.” You were preparing to go downtown with Anne, so you didn't have time to say much. What there was, though, was mighty sweet and I want to thank you, Honey, for taking the time to dash off the few paragraphs. The last sentence particularly intrigued me. You say “She (Adele) sings herself to sleep with this tune. “ah-ah, da-da.” I won't pretend to believe your assertion that she's thinking of me at those times. What I want to know is—does she say “da-da” or “dah-dah”? You want to know if I'd like a job like your Dad's? How can I tell you when I don't know what his job is? All I know is that he works for a furniture concern. You said that you were all dressed up in your fur “outfit.” Does that mean you had a hat made from that piece of fur? If so, how come you didn't tell me about it.? If not, why do you use the term “outfit”? Maybe the answers are in some of the letters I'm “sweating out.”

Tomorrow, Moats, Klein and myself are taking the Liberty Run to town. This time we won't waste our time and money at the Hippodrome. There are some nice movie houses in the town and this time we intend to wind up at one of them!

Seems to me Mom owes me a letter. I can't understand why she holds it off so long. Is she so busy all day and in the evenings that she doesn't have time, or is it that she doesn't feel she has anything to write about? Just remind her, will you, Sweet?

It's a long time since I mentioned the neighbors. Remember me to the Frommers and the gang next door (I never did learn Lou’s and Pete’s surnames.) What are Helen and Jean doing these days? If you're writing to Jean, give her my best. While I remember it—send me Mr. Silver's full name and address, I neglected to make a note of it and it would take hours to find it among the more than 200 letters of yours I have on file.

And now—as the “old maestro” used to say, “it's time for au revoir, pleasant dreams—” Look for me at 5:00 o'clock, Baby—I'm always there. Kiss the cherub for her “da-da.” Wish she was old enough to understand my writing—I might just possibly ask her to kiss her “mommy” for me, her

Loving daddy, Phil

P.S. Love to all.

P.P.S. Please send the candy, food, clothes, radio, baseball glove, roller skates, scooter, bicycle, books, games, toys—or what have you? (Hope I haven't forgotten anything.) I'd appreciate it, dear, if you would deliver the next package in person—or, if you don't feel like lugging anything, just forget the packages.

March 21, 1944

Dear Phil:

How are you? I received my report today and the marks I made were as follows, English B

Practical Math B

Biology B

Bookkeeping B

American Ideals B

Arithmetic Review C

Chorus B

I made the honor roll and to do so you must have all “a’s” or “b’s” with a possible “c” in a minor subject. I'm going to try harder this term because the first report really doesn't count. I may start to work at the five and ten again next week. They're getting busier because of the oncoming Easter holidays. That's all for now, regards from all.

Loads of love and kisses

Ruth

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