I intend to post almost daily, and in roughly chronological order, the thousands of pages of daily love letters that my parents sent to each other during WWII and any other documents that pertain to these letters..
Just finished a long, 6 page letter to brother Jack. I've got only 2 of these pages left, which is just as well, I guess, cause I'm too tired to write much more. As a special concession to you, Sweet, I won't waste any space setting off paragraphs, so read slowly, O.K.? O.K! Last night - another enema! Was I mortified?! This time Tex insisted I lay on my left side while, well, you know. Well, I coaxed, pleaded, and downright refused to do it that way (it's so damned undignified)! The upshot was, I took the enema lying on a blanket, on my left side, on the latrine floor. I think I blushed. This morning I had that G.I. series as I described it in yesterday's letter, only I didn't mention that they also X-rayed my stomach directly afterward. If they don't know exactly what makes me tick the funny way I do now it certainly isn't their fault! They certainly took plenty of pains to find out! Just to make the job complete, I was sent over to the dental clinic and the eye, ear, nose and throat clinic for check ups. That's routine around here. Everything was O.K. in latter dept., but the dentist wants to X-ray one of my molars that he thinks may be going bad. He said "come ’round Monday at 1:30 P.M." I said "I don't know if I'll be here that long - (today's Friday). He said "you'll be here" - which was news to me. Lady, they really give you a going-over here, or have you gathered as much? After lunch, I listened to the Kraft Music Hall program and enjoyed it very much. Cass Daley was great singing "Together", but the number I really got a kick out of was Bing singing a duet with that peer of operatic tenors, Lauritz Melchior - the selection - "One Meat Ball". It was a riot - no less! I hope you heard it, Chippie. - Then I played pinochle with 3 of my ward-buddies for, well, until supper-time. Guess what we had for supper ~ one meat ball ~ no kiddin'! and string beans, and cheese-potatoes (I love 'em), and catsup and b & b and chocolate pudding pie (yum-yum), and a big, big cup o' tea. Not bad, huh, civilian? I read in the papers where food, and especially meat, is getting really short back there at home. Is it affecting you, honey? If it is, write and tell me I'll send you - yeah, - one meat ball. ~ Don't know why I'm so silly tonight. Maybe it's because I can't put my real thoughts down on paper. Even if I could, it wouldn't look like much. Something like this: I want to go home ~ I want to see Ev ~ I want to hold Ev (all over) - I want to hold Ev very, very close and hug her and kiss her on the lips on the eyes on the throat - if I ever get my lips to hers I'll never let go - that's how I feel. I want to lay next to Evie in our nice, soft bed and - well - of course I would, but I can't say so in so many words, can I? Even if the letters aren't being censored any more! Then I think I would just love to hold the punkin close for hour after hour and wouldn't even want to let her go long enough to play with her. Only her I won't kiss so much. Why? "Silly - 'cause a biting dog can't kiss - get it? Oh, hell, I'm all melted butter inside to say nothing of being also one big hunk of "I wanta" - Gee, how I wanta! A kiss for each of you, my darlings. Love to all.
Am starting this at work, just before going home. As is generally the case this time of month, we were very busy all day long. I have so little patience for letter-writing that it takes sheer effort to get started on just a v-mail. It's due, mostly, to the fact that I haven't been receiving mail from you. I hope I'm right on my assumption that you will be coming home soon.
I completed only the above at the office and arrived home to find your letter of May 17th. As I read it I had an almost uncontrollable urge to cry and for just a moment I felt utter despair. No, I'm afraid I didn't quite expect you to go to the Pacific, not, as you state, so definitely. A minute later the mood relaxed almost as suddenly as it had come. Yes, all we can do is hope that the end will come soon and that you will be discharged immediately after. The day I noted the change in your address I felt, deep down, that it wasn't good somehow. I had been praying that I was wrong, but I knew better. Regardless of what you say I do feel that I will see you soon, if only for 30 days. Never fear, I won't despair. After waiting so long for the right thing, I guess it won't hurt us to wait a little longer, sweet. I've become very hard inside and can take most anything that comes my way, no matter how bitter it tastes.
Today is a replica of all the days we've been having the past few weeks. It's actually cool and when you take into consideration that tomorrow is June 1 (Seymour's 19th birthday, incidentally) it is surprising.
Speaking of Seymour, I had a nice letter from him. He says he hopes you won't have to come to the Pacific, because it is all trees, rocks and hell holes and he hates it more than anything. Aside from that he sounds good. He's up for a rating of S 1/c and doesn't want to take it, for reasons that he said he could not mention. He has a little more free time than previously and doesn't say anything of where he is. He requested a 5x7 picture of Adele, and I intend to send him one for a birthday gift. I don't know what else to send. We've sent him many packages and it's months since they were mailed, but he has yet to receive them.
Fay is leaving for the shore on Saturday and will be there all summer. She asked me again to come down whenever I could and I said I would see how things work out first, especially concerning you.
I may not get the opportunity to write tomorrow as I must take Adele to Dr. Lefkoe's in the evening and will get back late. I love you, sweet, no matter what happens. We'll make up for everything when this mess is all over.
Your Eve
31 May 1945
Darling Chippie,
Well, here it is the last day of the mouth and it doesn't look very much like I'll be out of hospital for at least a few days yet. But I'm not complaining, ’cause it's more in the nature of a vacation for me than anything else. Best of all, I have plenty of time to write and read and nap (you needn't say "humph!" at that last - that's important, too), and after I get off a letter to brother Jack, I won't owe anyone a letter, and believe me it's a grand and glorious feeling not to owe anyone a letter - or do you know that, sweet?
Yesterday evening, after I mailed my letter to you, I went around for my “fat-free" meal. This consisted entirely of vegetables, and some jam and bread and tea. When I got back to the ward, the nurse was waiting for me with another half-tumbler of that purplish dye for me to drink. It looked like it ought to taste like grape-juice, but it was like drinking so much ink. Ugh! Even the nurse made a wry face as she watched me gulp it down. I spent the rest of the day reading a volume of "1943 Prize Short-Stories" (the O. Henry Memorial group), and it occurred to me that if that is a sample of the best in short-stories, then even I have a chance. No kiddin’, Chippie ~ while I was reading, I felt that that sort of thing isn't beyond my capabilities. I'm sure as I was ever sure of anything that I can write an acceptable story - a whole flock of them, given the time and opportunity. This isn't conceit, honey, it's just plain confidence. What's more, I still think "ETOUSA Interlude" has merit - even if Marion Hargrove didn't. - But I’m way off the subject - I was telling you what has happened to me since I wrote yesterday ~ Bed-time here is 10 P.M., altho' it's still light at that time. I went to bed wondering why they didn't give me the enema I was told earlier I would get. However, I must admit I was more relieved than disappointed. I was awakened by Tex, the ward boy, who was very sorry about having to wake me (it was now 11 P.M.), but he had completely forgotten that I was to have an enema, and I would have to get out of bed and take one now, as it had to be done if I were to be X-rayed next morning, etc., etc. Well, there was nothing for it. You know - when y’gotta go - y’gotta go - ouch! This morning, not being permitted breakfast, I slept in ’til almost 9:00 A.M. Shortly after, I was called down to be X-rayed. Then I was sent up to the mess-hall to eat a "fatty" meal, an hour after which I was to come back to be X-rayed again. This time I ate a coupla fried eggs, bread & butter, and a glass of milk. After killing an hour in the ward reading, I went back for my last X-ray. When the captain made his rounds a little later, he asked me how I felt, if my cough gone, etc., and then told the nurse that I was to get a G.I. (Gastro-intestinal) series tomorrow. This consists of drinking a chalk-like mixture (barium) while the doc watches how it goes thru the digestive track thru the fluoroscope. They're following the same procedure they did at Lockbourne. I'm hoping they don't try a gastric analysis, ’cause I remember I found it impossible to swallow the silver receptacle with its attached length of rubber hose. They're certainly taking a lot of trouble with me. I hope something comes of it!
The weather has been very changeable today. It is clear and sunny and cool for a few hours, then it clouds up and rains for a little while, then the sun comes out again to shine on the rows of nissen huts that comprise the hospital, the well-kept fields, criss-crossed by the concrete walks, and the colorful plots of flowers here and there. The menial work around the hospital here is done by german PW's. They cut the grass, and work as K.P.'s in the mess-hall. I've seen all types among them. They range in age from kids of fifteen to elderly, dignified men of 45 and 50. Most of them are stupid-looking, coarse fellows whom it isn't difficult for me to hate the very sight of, but there's fellow working in the mess-hall, who looks like someone's father, with a gentle mouth and mien, and who reminded me instantly of Abe Duretz. I couldn't help wondering what he was thinking as he stolidly piled trays what his hopes are, and how much of evil there could possibly be in such a one.
The G.I.'s in the ward get on my nerves occasionally. Some of them are so grossly uninformed, or misinformed, and conceited and cocky with their sense of power (of the American Armies), and prejudiced, and bigotted, that I sometimes despair for "the fine, free world" of the future, we read so much about. There's no profit in reasoning with such as these simply because their prejudices and pre-conceived notions preclude the possibility of their recognizing a valid statement. Sometimes I just lay in my bunk and sizzle with a mixture of anger, contempt and helplessness at some of the smug, self-complacent, cruel, unthinking and inane statements some of our “noble" G.I.'s come out with. God help us all if the bulk, the rank and file of our America citizenry think as some of our soldiers! - What really disturbs me is that there seem to be so many of them! - But what am I boring you with all this for? Far better that I should tell you about the pleasanter things around here - such as the lovely Strauss waltzes that are coming over the loud-speakers just now ~
Darling, you are never so close to me as when I am listening to lovely music, or when contemplating beauty in any form. I remember now that when, earlier this afternoon, a Red Cross girl bought in a bouquet of flowers in a can for the table on which I am writing, I bent down to sniff at a luscious, maroon-colored rose. The sweet fragrance brought the adored image of your face sharp and clear. As far as I am concerned, then, darling, you are everything that is sweet and beautiful. I do love you so very, very much ~ Love to Adele and all from
I do not have the typewritter & am using this means, the the only one I could use, without a typewriter. Your letter of the 12th, received yesterday, was in reply to my question of the “#4906 break." I hope you didn't expect me to show that letter to anyone, for you know how deep it would cut. I'd appreciate if you'd write a reply as I suggested, so that I may give it to all to read - something nice -
The day was spent cleaning our room - a thorough job - & took most of the day. Petey made a snap of Adele, but I don’t expect it to be good.
Adele's Dick test showed a positive reaction, but the Doc feels she should have one more shot, in about three weeks. (darn it!) If I don't take Adele's tonsils out in June, they cannot be removed until October. In all probability I will wait until Oct. Syd Brown is home on a 30 day furlough & does not yet know whether he will be discharged.
I love you!!
Your Eve
30 May 1945
(Memorial Day)
Dearest Darling,
The weather cleared today, and we had some really nice weather. My cough is all but gone and I'm feeling fine again. Capt. Brownlee meant what he said about doing something about my indigestion, ’cause instead of sending me back to my unit, he is having some tests made in order to determine just what is at the root of my trouble. Today he sent me around to the X-Ray department to begin what is known as a “G.B. Series,” which is nothing more or less then a series of X-Ray pictures to determine if my gall bladder is functioning properly. This is a rather involved procedure. The first step was taken early this afternoon, when an X-Ray was taken of my gall-bladder. When I got back to the ward, I was given half a tumblerful of a purple dye to drink down. A little later I was given a stiff dose of mineral oil. In about half an hour I'm to report to the mess hall with a note which says "fat-free diet." Later tonight I'll be given an enema (how I dread the prospect), and tomorrow morning I'm to have no breakfast. All the foregoing, of course, is in preparation for another X-Ray, which they are going to make tomorrow morning. After that - ?? If you remember, Sweet, I went thru pretty much the same procedure at Lockbourne early in ’43, and the result was that they decided I have a “nervous stomach", but as far as doing anything about it - well, they just didn't. This time, tho’ I’m going to press for action, and I think I'll get it. I told the Capt. about the tests they made at Lockbourne. "What did they find out,” he asked. "I have a nervous stomach,” I answered. "What did they tell you to do about it"? "They told me not to eat fried or greasy foods and to try not to worry.” The Capt. laughed at that - then he told me that he had handled many cases like mine, etc, etc, and that as soon as I was feeling better he would see what could be done about it. I thought that he was just trying to be congenial at the time and that he would forget about it and discharge me from hospital as soon as my cough had disappeared (in which case I fully intended to remind him), but I had misjudged the good Captain, ’cause he came round bright and early this morning and told me to go round to be X-Rayed. He gave me a slip on which was written "G.B. Series - Chronic indigestion" to give to the X-Ray Technician. After I drank the dye, I had to lay on my right side for an hour, which wasn't too hard to do. I've been taking it easy the remainder of the day, just lying on my bunk and listening to the radio.
Well, darling, there isn't any more to tell for the moment, and I have to run along to the mess-hall and my "fat-free diet,” so I'll leave you for a while. Here's a kiss, baby. I love you so much! And here's a kiss for Adele, too. My love to all. Hasta Mañana
Just finished a V-mail to Gloria (high time, too), and now I'm all set to talk to you again. I'm feeling O.K. now, and the only trace that is left of my recent illness is a little cough that will be gone soon. However, I may be here for at least a few days because I told the Doc about my long suffering with indigestion, and he is going to see what he can do about it. He seemed almost pleased when I told him about. it. At least he smiled as happily as a kid with a new toy as he told me quite frankly that that sort of thing was right up his alley, and implied that what he didn't know about it wasn't worth knowing. Which is all very fortunate for me, because more Army doctors than you know about, seemed entirely uninterested and unwilling to do anything constructive about my condition. This Captain Brownlie, though, appears to be most interested. I got the impression it is his specialty and hobby. Deep down, I don't think any doctor, no matter how well-intentioned, can cure me as long as I am in the Army and have to eat Army chow. I'm convinced that the only solution is strict and prolonged diet, which is a physical impossibility in the Army, but I’m thankful, nevertheless, that someone is going to try to do something about it.
In the meantime, I'm having a nice enough time of it. I've read three books so far. "Slogum House” by Mari Sandoz (remember it?), "There's One in Every Family" by Frances Eisenberg - a very light humorous novel that amused me, and "My Dear Bella" by Arthur Kober, which is a series of sketches about a Bronx family, Ma and Pa Gross and their young and only daughter Bella. It is true to life and written in Yiddish dialect, which is the funniest part of the book. I think you'd enjoy it, Sweet, so try to get hold of it. When I'm not reading, I'm either dozing or listening to the radio. There are two loud speakers, one at each end of the ward, and thru these at intervals during the day, we hear the news, music, and transcribed records and radio programs such as the Edgar Bergen show, etc. Then, of course, a good proportion of my time was spent writing that 14-pager, the V- mail to Gloria, and now this. The ward is filled with former combat men, some former PW's, etc., who swap yarns some of the time. I usually lend an attentive ear to this talk, ’cause some of these fellows have had some unusual experiences, sometimes dramatic, but the ones they usually talk about are the ones they found funny or sexy, with plenty of the latter. I often wonder what you would think, darling, if you could hear about some of the things that guys and gals are wont to do under circumstances peculiar to war-time—Most of the fellows are going home in a few weeks, and while they try not to be impatient, it is pretty difficult, and even if they don't talk much about it, one can see how preoccupied they are with their thoughts of home.
I was just thinking how ironic it would be if my unit were shipped home before I could get out of hospital - but I guess there isn't much chance of their moving anyplace before I get out of here, altho' I don't think we'll be in England more than another few months. You have, no doubt, seen in the newspapers that some of the 8th Air Force have flown home, and that more are scheduled to do so, but that doesn't mean we will do likewise. On the other hand, we may. The 8th Air Force is now in the process of re-deployment, but different units are destined to go straight to the Pacific, while others will be sent to the states. Of the latter, some will be disbanded, while others will be re-outfitted and re-trained for eventual action in the Pacific. It's no use trying to guess what I am destined for - I can only be certain of one thing - that some change in my status will occur in the near future. I can only hope that it will be a happy change. I know you are praying for me, honey—
I'm missing your letters, sweetheart, and it's hard to do without them. Too - it makes it so much more difficult for me to write a really long letter, altho’ I haven't done too badly here of late - huh? Guess I'm just about all writ out now, so I'll close this with my usual large measure of love to you, the punkin and all.
I love you dearly, my Evie, and am, as ever
Your Phil
P.S. Continue to write to APO 559 until I advise you differently. Thank you!
May 29, 1945
Dear Evalyn,
When you write to me again address me as Mr. and send your mail c/o Miss Marjorie Mann, Borden General Hospital, Chickasha, Okla. A-5
Yup! I got a C.D.D. and after five more days I’ll be cleared from the hospital and on my way to Marjorie.
I intend to find a job in photog. in Oklahoma City and we’ll see each other about three times weekly. When we’ve saved enough, we’ll go East.
After that I’ll probably take up on one of the ex G.I. programs to lead me to a research job in photog. I’m not sure. I’m certain only that if God grants us health we’ll have a happy and prosperous life together.
I hope you’re all well, and I sure wish I could hear from Phil once in a while and from you often.
I’ll write in a couple of weeks and let you know what goes.
Love,
Jackie
P.S. Marjorie uses her maiden name because she’s not allowed to “date” patients. It would look like hell if she were married to one. It might even mean her job. If I get anything decent, to hell with it if she can’t be known as Mrs. N.
Did not have the opportunity to write yesterday. After I wrote to you on Saturday I met Ruth at Lerner's and tried several dresses on. There were two that appealed to me and Ruth will try to get them for me with her discount. Harry Weinman came over for dinner and asked Ruth to go out with him. So it was that both Harrys, Ruth, Goldie and myself went to the Logan to see "Hotel Berlin", which was a "stinkeroo" and then to Scotty's for sundaes. It was kind of late when we got to bed and I could just about get up at 7:30, when Adele awoke. Adele and I had breakfast and went out to play on the porch. She played with her toys, while I tried to make some progress with her sweater. I finished sewing the front and back together and started on one sleeve. Mom didn't get up until 11:30 and since she had slept with me so that Harry could have her bed, it wasn't until that time that I got to straighten up our room. At 12 I prepared Adele's lunch, fed her, bathed her, washed her hair and put her to nap. I washed some clothes, ate lunch, cleaned the living room set with the hand sweeper and put the covers on (with Harry W's help).
May 29, 1945
Never did finish, but here I am again. Sunday night I took Adele up at 8 o'clock and lay down on the bed till she fell asleep. I slept that way until 1:30 - that's how tired I was. At 1:30 I came down, had some milk and cake and went right back to sleep. Monday I got into work early and went straight to Dr. Gayl's with Adele after dinner. He gave her the Dick test and I have to go back this evening for the reading. Dr. Gayl and I discussed the advisability of taking Adele's tonsils out and he told me it would cost $50.00. Since I do not have mail from you and it may be that you are on your way home, I do not believe that I will have them removed until the Fall.
All of which brings me right up to date. The weather continues cool and we’ve been having plenty of rain.
On arriving home I found your letter of May 12th which I will comment on tomorrow. Adele weighed 36 1⁄2 lbs. Monday night & I weighed 117 1/2. I'll say my usual "I love you, sweet,” so I can get this into the mail.
There was no mail from you yesterday, but there was a nice letter from Jack Nerenberg and a confirmation of their marriage from his wife. Her parents' name is Mr. & Mrs. Lorenzo Beckley Mann. Jack took my suggestion and spent a whole evening writing to you. Now you'll have some first hand information concerning him. He is still at the hospital and is impatiently awaiting a discharge. He says, "Can you picture me going to bed every night at 9? This is a very boring life!" He goes on to say that he hadn't seen Marge for 23,040 minutes. He knows I feel sorry for him, but he should compare the time we haven't seen each other. Does that make him feel better? No - he still feels badly - so there now!
Last night was another of those unexciting evenings. In fact, we're so slow at work that I could type to you all day long, providing I could dream up enough to write about. Strangely, and because I do have the time, I find it almost impossible to concentrate and write and write, much as I want to. I caught up on my correspondence at work yesterday by writing to Seymour, Gloria and Milt. I got home early, had dinner, bathed Adele, fitted more of her clothes so that I could put them in a wearable condition, showered, set my hair, knitted, etc.
Oh yes! Syd is back in the States and will be home today or tomorrow. Harry Weinman has been transferred to Fort Dix and is home from Friday to Monday night on pass. It's getting to be like old times with some of the boys home! Phil, I don't know whether it's hope, or just because I want it to happen so much, but I feel that I will see you soon. Perhaps you won't stay here, but I do feel that I will see you soon. It's really the first time that I had such a feeling and I hope that I'm right. It's not often that I feel this way. I won't be disappointed if I don't, but I feel, almost certainly, that I will! I shall be a very happy girl when the last week of May in over. I dislike the prospect of spending three nights of a week in a doctor's office, especially when I know that the needle may cause ill effects. Adele has been eating nicely and looking well and I hate to think that I shall have to cause her further hardship. Oh well, it will all be over in a week.
I'm still at work and will visit Ruth at Lerner's before going home, to see if I can buy myself some cotton dresses. It's a lucky thing for me that the weather is cool, or I'd be without anything to wear to work. Since I do not have much to say and want to get a letter off today, I shall post this when I leave work. If I did receive mail, I will answer it tomorrow.
I forgot to tell you that yesterday was the 24th anniversary of my folks. Next year we'll have to have a party to commemorate?? the occasion. I love you so much, baby, and wish that I could give expression to that love by actual demonstration.
*Coincidentally, when I had just begun to ready this post, I spent a day in the emergency room and was diagnosed with Influenza A. My husband, Saul, came down with it the day after and we both spent a miserable week in bed recovering. We know just how you felt, Dad, as you were suffering and recovering.
May 25, 1945
My darling,
No mail today, though I had been expecting some. Most everyone has had mail up to the 18th of May, so I'm just a week behind, with yours of the 11th. Saturday is usually my lucky day, so here's hopin'!
There's one question I've been meaning to ask you for a long time. I wanted to show Adele your violin and when I attempted to open the case I found it was locked. Do you remember locking it or where you put the key? Hope you’ll be able to play it for her in the very near future. I'm sure she'd like that.
I brought home a dozen boxes of camphor for Ethel and she and Al picked them up last night. Camphor is very scarce and she was very grateful for the favor, especially since she received it at cost price, I had bathed Adele and had put her in her crib when they walked in. As soon as she heard their voices, she called, "Al, Al I want to see you!” I brought her down and she gave Al his usual hug and kiss. God but she's crazy about him! In the meantime Mrs. Ochroch, our new next door neighbor caught her attention and since Mrs."Otok” always gives Adele a piece of candy, she asked for it on this occasion. So Mrs. “Otok” went to get Adele a piece of candy. While we were waiting on the porch, Ethel said “Adele, I’m going to give you a nickel for a dixie.” Adele replied, “I’m going to put the money in my penny bank”. Ethel, who doesn’t like the kid much (not much!) almost ate her up. Ethel asked Adele what she was going to do to her daddy when he came home and she said, “I’m going to give him a tiss and a hug and he’s going to buy me a tar (car)”.
It was rather late when she finally fell asleep and I finished washing. However, I still have piles and piles of sewing to do and proceeded to put up two hems on two of Adele's dresses. I ironed them, read the newspaper, corrected the mistake I had made on Adele’s sweater and was in bed by 11:45. So ended another very routine evening for me.
Really, honey, I'm finding it more and more difficult to write daily, when I have so little to write about. I shopped and shopped for a hat for Mom but to no avail. I gave her $5 instead, and told her to buy whatever she liked.
I read an article in last night’s Bulletin that stated all of the 8th men except those particular outfits of the 8th to be shipped directly to the Pacific will be flown home within 30 to 60 days. Now all I want to know is does that or does that not include you? I realize you know no more than I do, but perhaps by this time, you have been enlightened to some extent. Gosh, it doesn't sound at all believable that I might possibly see you within a matter of days!! Don't worry I’m not going to feel or believe anything until you're right next to me - in the flesh! Did I tell you that I'm just wild about you? I didn't l Well, I am, in fact I love you so much I could eat you right up. Um -
Your Eve
25 May1945
Dearest Evie
Shall I take a page out of your book and say right off the bat that I am writing this from a hospital bunk - or shall I be sensible about it by starting at the beginning and telling you of the circumstances that brought me here? Since I always made fun of you for your fondness for the former course, I guess I'd better be consistent and choose the latter - On the 21st of May I left the base on my first pass in seven weeks. I had 72 hours, which I intended to spend in London. The 21st being Whit Monday, we weren't permitted to travel by rail, so I decided to spend the afternoon and night in Colchester and start out for London by bus in the morning. Neither the Woolfs nor the Marks were at home when I called, so I headed for the movies to see "Something for the Boys". I enjoyed only two things about the picture: (1) The very attractive settings. (2) Vivian Blaine who is the loveliest red-head I ever did see - and talented to boot. Carmen Miranda, whom I used to enjoy is beginning to pall -there’s so little variety about her performance. Perry Como is good-looking, and has a very pleasing voice - I look for him to make the gals forget all about Frank Sinatra. If I had a voice like Michael O'Shea's, I'd certainly never use it for singing! After the show, I went round to the Marks on the chance they might be back. They were, so I spent what was left of the night there. There were two other G.I.’s there, one of whom has a mess of points and is probably on his way home by now. The other guy, an immense hunk o’man standing about 6’4” and weighing about 270 lbs. spent the evening trying to convince us he’d go nuts if they kept him in the ETO much longer. He wanted to go home, and couldn’t think or talk about anything else. We left at 11:30 and went to the Red Cross Club, where we spent the night. In the morning, I stopped at Bert’s shop to visit with him a little while, and then went ’round to the depot to catch my bus. I had to change at Chelmsford. Bretton Wood and Romford, and made the last stage of the journey, from Upminster Bridge to Leicester Sq. via the Underground. Altogether, it took me about four hours, but the weather was nice and the landscape interesting, so I didn’t mind. Arrived at Leicester Sq., I went directly to the Eagle Club, where I filled up on a toasted cheese sandwich, hot waffles, and malted milk (not to be confused with the U.S.A. variety). Sgt. Murphy had told me that me that he might be able to come into London, and that he would meet me at Rainbow Corner at 8 P.M. if he did get in. When I finished eating, it was just 4:30, so I looked around for a move in which to “kill” the intervening time. “Picture of Dorian Gray,” playing at the Empire, looked interesting, so I decided to give it a try. I had read the story and liked it, but the picture somehow failed to capture the qualities of eeriness and suspense of Oscar Wilde's bizarre tale. Incidentally, I learned that Angela Lansbury was not the little girl who played the lead in "National Velvet", but the baby-faced blonde who played her older sister. She plays the role of Dorian Gray's first love and first victim. It is difficult to put one's finger on where the picture failed. I only know I was disappointed with it. I came out of the theater into the mellow sun-light of a lovely spring late afternoon. It was then about 6:45. Having more than an hour to spare before my date with Murph, I went back to the Eagle Club to pick up the camera I had borrowed from Karl Schoemerren, and which I had loaded with that roll of film you sent me. With camera in hand, I strolled through the bustling crowds and traffic toward Trafalgar Square. I tried to get a decent view of the crowds and general scene, but found that the range of the camera was limited. Arriving at the Square, I poked about looking for something suitable to photograph, but aside from the tots feeding the flocks of pigeons, I saw nothing that I thought might interest you. Being too shy to involve myself with the elders of the kids feeding the pigeons, I wound up taking no pictures at all. I waited at Rainbow Corner for Murphy ’til 8:30, and then concluded that he hadn’t come in, so I left a note for him and went back to the Eagle Club for a bite to eat, and to determine how I would spend the remainder of the evening. It was too late to make another movie, and I never was one to find any fun in “pub-crawling" especially not without company, so I was stuck. I was about to settle down to getting a letter off to you, when I suddenly remembered something I had often wanted to do in London, but never got around to. Klein had told me of the two big dance halls in London, the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, and the Palais in Hammersmith, where there was dancing nightly. I had heard some glowing accounts of these places, but I wasn't prepared for anything like what I encountered. Covent Garden is only a few minutes ride on the UG, so I set forth for the Royal Opera House. The nomenclature of the place should have given me some idea as to its appearance, but the lavish appointments and decorations, are so contrary to what I have seen of all public places in England (with the exception of the better movie-houses) that I was completely surprised and at once delighted with it. Two balconys that extend half-way ’round the hall, and whose facades are decorated with great numbers of three candelabra red-shaded electric lights, give an air of luxurious beauty to the Hall. Rows of small tables and chairs are set up next to the balcony rails, and these provide an excellent vantage point for those who just come to watch the dancers. The floor itself is highly polished hardwood parquetry (like the flooring in the house in Chestnut Street). There were two orchestras - Teddy Foster and his band, and an all-girl aggregation, whom I liked even more. The music, like most music played by the bands over here was entirely American, and predominantly jive. The dancers (about a thousand, I figure) were a conglomeration of English civilians of both sexes, English military personnel of both sexes, and American service men, with a sprinkling of WACS. The English girls, in the main, were more smartly dressed and made up than I've ever seen them, and quite a few were good to look at. Their dancing, however, isn't in the same class with the Americans. They seem to lack the easy grace that is born of a real liking or appreciation of rhythm. Most of the girls "jitterbring" (or what passes for it over here), but I have still to see one on whom it looks good. For that matter, now that I think of it, outside of Klein and one or two others, I haven't seen the smooth, on-beat, type of jitterbugging that I used to enjoy watching back in Philly. When it comes to dancing (of any kind) our own crowd (Snuff, Bob, Yale, Phil, Bill Cooper, Jack N.) had it all over any group of G.I.'s I've ever seen at a dance - and that's not just blarney, either. After watching many, many guys in action, I can’t help but feel that I'll get along O.K. when the time comes when I'll want to dance again. It's only after watching a Jackie N. perform that I feel my inferiority in this department—but we all can't be dancers of his caliber, can we honey? A sidelight about English dances you might find interesting because the Americans have no counterpart for it - the “ladies’ excuse me" sessions, during which the gals are supposed to “cut-in". I had heard of this custom. This was the first time I saw it in practice. Immediately after the “excuse me” was announced, a number of the more venturesome girls, who had spent most of the evening on the side lines looking on, because they weren't asked to dance, made their way to the center of the floor, and after scouting the dancing couples a while cut in wherever their fancy pleased them. Unfortunately, the floor was so crowded, that my view of groups of "cutters-in" was often obstructed - and so I was cheated out of an excellent opportunity to observe something of the feminine psychology that would be evidenced from the bases on which they chose partners. For the rest, the floor is the shape of an elongated oval, the band-stand is situated about three-fourths down the length of the hall, rather than at the very back, which is a very happy arrangement, because the music is equally audible from any part of the hall, and the dancers, can dance completely around the island formed by the bandstand. To top it all off there is an elaborate system of lighting, whereby the mood of the music is enhanced and augmented by appropriately colored ceiling lights, spot-lights, flood-lights, etc, etc. Altogether, it was a very happy thought that prompted me to visit the Opera House in Covent Garden. I spent a very pleasant and entertaining evening there - and gained a myriad of lovely impressions which are tucked away in the "permanent file" of my memory.
I left the dance just before it ended at 11 P.M. in order to a void the rush to the cloak-rooms, where I had checked my caps and ditty bags. Taking the UG, I went directly to the Turkish Baths in Russell Square. There I followed the usual relaxing procedure, which you already know, and was in bed by 1:30. I slept until 9:00 A.M. (23rd), when I rose, dressed and checked out. When I came out-side, I was disappointed to find that it was raining, chilly, and generally miserable weather. My first stop was at the Eagle for breakfast. After eating I loafed for an hour in the lounge listening to a performance of "Tchaikovsky's 4th", (one of my favorite symphonies) on the radio, and glancing over the news. I had promised myself a show (at least one) on this pass, so I went ’round to the booking office of the Prince of Wales Theater and inquired about a seat for either the matinee or evening performance of “Strike it Again", the sequel to "Strike a New Note" which I saw last year, and for which I sent you the programs, and which I enjoyed so much. Well, Sid Field is again the star of the show, and he is a great success here in London. The show it self is doing a tremendous business, and tickets are always hard to get. On inquiring, I learned that the only seats available for that day were a few in the first row at 14/ (don't bother converting Chippie, I'll tell you in a minute how much it is in American dollars and cents) for the matinee, and nothing whatever for the evening performance! Well, 14 shillings is about $2.80, and more than I had meant to spend for an afternoon's entertainment, so I tried a few other theaters in the vicinity. It turned out to be just so much wasted effort - they were all sold out, some for weeks ahead! By the time I finished the rounds, I began to feel that those seats "for "Strike it Again" were a downright bargain at 14/. I was even relieved, when I got back, to find that a few were still unsold! Without further ado, then, I bought a ticket and headed back to the Eagle to wait the hour or so ’til 2:30. I was feeling uncommonly tired about this time, but I didn't suspect anything was wrong until I passed a place advertising ice creams for sale. When I was almost a block past it, I found myself wondering why I didn't respond normally to that sign. Concentrating on this unprecedented behavior of mine, I had to admit to myself that I didn't feel like eating ice cream, or anything else for that matter. Back at the club, trying to relax, I felt uncommonly restless, then weary, then chilly, then too-warm. It finally dawned on me that I was sick and, very likely, running a temperature. When it came show time, I hardly felt up to it, but I would have to be half-dead to give up going - so I went! It may be said to the eternal credit of Sid Field and the company of "Strike it Again" that I thoroughly enjoyed the show in spite of my indisposition. Sid Field has a great talent for comedy, and he can make me laugh as no one else can. But you'd have to see him, Sweet, to appreciate his cleverness. The two feminine leads (you'll find their names in a program which I will include in another letter - [this one will be bulky enough] - I didn't pay too much attention) were a hard-looking but beautifully built blonde, who sang and acted at least to my, entire satisfaction, and a lovely, oriental looking brunette, who danced and sang most pleasingly. The whole performance was marked by the vivacity of the cast, which was made up of a bunch of talented, good-looking, dancing kids in their teens. If you'll save the programs, Sweet, I'll someday try to describe some of the action to you.
As soon as I came out of the theater, I knew for certain that I was a pretty sick boy. Chills ran up my spine and seemed to explode in my head - my hair felt as if it were standing on end - my head was spinning at every other step, and I felt as though I were walking in a dream. I've had fevers too many times not to be able to recognize the symptoms, so I stopped at the Eagle's information desk to inquire where I might go for medical attention. I was directed to the dispensary at Rainbow Corner, five minutes walk away. There, a nurse took my temperature and confirmed my suspicion. I had a substantial fever - 102° to be exact. The M.P.'s took me and two other fellows to another U.S. Army Medical center in London, where I was further examined by a Medical Officer, who thought I had the flu. From there I was taken in an Army ambulance across town to the 150th General Hospital, where I was put to bed, examined by another Medical Officer, who confirmed the original diagnosis, and where I spent a pretty miserable night. The fever kept me awake most of the night, and I ached in every part of me. In the morning I felt no better. About 11 A.M. (24th) I was given my clothes, told to dress because they were moving me to the 7th General Hospital about 20 mi. away in the country. Then followed maddening periods of waiting - waiting for the ambulance - waiting to get to the other place so I could lay down again (I was feeling miserable and impatient with everything) - waiting once we got there after what seemed an interminable time someone gave me a ride, to be assigned to a ward, while the G.I. clerks in the office fooled around with one thing and another, and I fought myself to resist the urge to lay down on the floor, and finally attaining once more to the unexcelled luxury of a crisp, white, hospital bunk, which, at the moment, was the one thing in all the world I wanted. I remember thinking, while I was waiting in the office, that if someone gave me the option of a bunk or an immediate start for home (without the bunk), I should probably choose the bunk! That, honey, should give you a pretty good idea as to how I felt at the time. Since then, though, I've had a much better time of it - (it is now 8:30 A. M. Sunday 27 May). The Medical Offices here examined me shortly after I was between the sheets, said I had the flu (as if I didn't know), and assured me that I'd “be O.K. in a coupla days". I was given four tablets, which I washed down at one gulp (to my own amazement), and which that evening and during the night literally sweated the fever completely out of me. I've felt almost normal, then, since the morning of the 25th, when I embarked on this tale of giddy up and woe (all right- so you don't get it - I know what I mean!). What have I failed to cover? Oh, yes, I'm in a ward of some thirty beds, with a bunch of guys recovering from various kinds of pneumonia, bronchial, and sinus ailments. The crew of ward-boys (G.I.’s) and young American Nurses (some pretty, but all well appreciated) are constantly on the ball, and the care and attention they lavish on us is a thing to behold! Our bunks are made up afresh two or three times each day, our backs are rubbed with a mixture of camphor and alcohol and then dusted with talc an equal number of times, etc., etc. - until one realizes he's going to hate like hell to leave this place to go back to camp! But I am rather anxious to get back for a number of reasons. First, there must be quite accumulation of your letters waiting for me that I'm most impatient to see. Then, there is so much of my work that shouldn't be permitted to go undone, and I doubt if Sgt. Stegman will have time for, what with the numerous other things he has to see to - and finally, I'm due for furlough on 1 June, and unless I get back soon, I'll probably have to forfeit that. I was planning to go up to Meadowcroft again, as I feel more at home there than any other place in England. The Yorkshire moors are at their best this time of year, and I wanted particularly to see them. If you remember, there was that invitation of Comdr. Bower's to stay at Sizgher castle in the Lake Windermere country, which is reputed to be very beautiful, but I find myself reluctant to give up this opportunity to see the Davies' again. I don’t know, Sweet, how long I'll be hospitalized, but I have little hope of getting back to base before 31 May, and that won't give me time enough to make the necessary arrangements to leave on the 1 June. However, if there are any dates open a little later in the month, I'll be able to go then. Anyway, here's hopin!
All this palaver, darling, when I know you are only concerned with the answer to one question - when I expect to come home - Ev, baby, don't think for a minute that just because I try to find some meaning or divertissement in things like trips to London, the Theater, and plans for a furlough in Yorkshire, that getting home isn't almost constantly in my thoughts. The suspense and uncertainty surrounding the prospects for going home is maddening - that is why I must keep myself constantly occupied - on the go - anything to keep that growing yearning within me under control. You, too, Chippie, must be under something of a strain trying to guess whether or not I'll be coming home to you within the next few months, but I remember being reassured as far as your own feelings are concerned by a statement you made in one of your most recent letters to the effect that you are hoping for the best and are prepared for the worst. That's the kind of talk I love to hear from you, darling - It makes it so much easier for me to know that you can face up to anything that may come your way. If it's any comfort to you, sweetheart, I haven't heard or seen anything since I wrote last that has done anything to shake my optimistic attitude one little bit. I might even add that my hopes are being constantly strengthened by certain shapings of events, So don't begrudge anyone the cheeriness of your smile these days, honey. You have more cause to wear that expression than any other -believe me! Don't start to “build up” the punkin just yet tho’, she's too young to be able to check her impatience or to have a dream fizzle out without too great an emotional repercussion. If I didn't think you are adult enough, my darling, I wouldn't allow you to entertain hopes, either.
Well, baby, I think I've told you just about everything you'd want to know (and no doubt a lot that you don't give a damn about), so I'll close this with all my love to you, a kiss (on account) for Adele, and love to all from
