Post #681 - July 17, 1945 On the Evening of the 15th, the Street Lights Were Put On For the First Time, Since Sep '39

17 July 1945

Dearest Evie,

As you will note by the reverse side of this stationery, I am writing this at Meadowcroft. After spending 3-1/2 days in London going to shows, I came up here to Yorkshire and was most cordially received by the Davies’. Comdr. Tim Healey is still here, his ship still in process of being fitted-out for duty. There was another distinguished guest and his wife here when I arrived, but they left early this morning. They were Col. Russel Jones, who was until recently Chief Censor in India, and who is destined for a post with UNRRA in Germany, and his wife. Both the Col., who is very erudite, and his wife, a charming, white-haired lady, were very, very friendly. I would have liked to become better acquainted with them, but they had business elsewhere.

There isn't much to tell about London, except that I did get to see the “Ballets Joos"," which is a never-to-be-forgotten experience. In addition, I saw "Affairs of Susan”, and "Diamond Horseshoe", both of which I enjoyed. Between shows I loafed at the Eagle Club, reading the papers, drinking cokes, etc. On the 14th, I went to Covent Garden, where I watched more than I danced, but had a nice time nevertheless. So much for London~ No, one more thing. On the evening of the 15th, the street lights were put on for the first time, since Sep '39. You should have seen how pleased the Londoners were! Whole families promenaded thru the streets, literally basking in the unaccustomed illumination. The older folks got just as great a kick out of it as the youngsters. It was a very welcome change for me, too, to be able to go about without the aid of a flashlight.

About 10:00 A.M. on the the 16th, I called Mrs. Davies to tell her I was taking the 12:45 train from King's Cross Station. I arrived at Darlington at 5:50 P.M. waited ’til 6:30 for a train to Middlesbro, where I arrived at 7:05, and after another half-hour's wait for the bus and a 20 minute ride, arrived at Meadowcroft at 8 o'clock, which is much better time for the journey than I ever made before.

Mrs. Davies had been waiting supper for me, so after the introductions had been made, I dashed upstairs to wash up and change.

There were six at table for the rather late supper. (No wonder they were glad to see me—they were probably famished!) The six, of course, were the Joneses, the Davieses, Comdr. Healey, and myself. Mrs. Davies, by a stroke of luck, had procured a whole salmon, and this, together with fried potatoes, salad, and delicious lemon meringue pie, which she made herself, made a very ample and tasty meal. Everyone was so hungry, that he paid strict attention to what was on the plate before him. Conversation, as a result, languished, but no one seemed to mind. After supper, as is the custom, we all went in to the library living room, where we relaxed in the easy chairs and chatted about various things. Col. Jones proved an extremely interesting fellow, whose knowledge covered many and varied subjects. So we talked until bed-time, which was about 11:30. I was given Judith's room, which besides containing some lovely old Sheraton furniture (bureau and wardrobe), also boasts a modern wash-stand, and a delightfully comfortable bed of the couch variety, without head or foot boards.

Mrs. Davies called me at 8:30 this morning, whereupon I rose, washed, dressed, and joined her shortly afterward at breakfast. The Joneses had departed at 7 o'clock, the Doctor was out on his rounds, and Cmdr. Healey had gone off to his ship. Mrs. Payne, incidentally, is on “holiday,” which is English for vacation, and Dr. Davies is struggling along without a secretary for the time being. Over breakfast, my host and I somehow got onto the subject of politics, the current general election, etc. We discussed the issue while we were eating; while we were clearing the table; and while Mrs. Davies was doing her wash in the garage, a corner of which is reserved for laundering. I knew that Mrs. Davies did most of her own housework, although she has two girls in to help her, but it never occurred to me that she actually does her own washing! I was shocked and admiring as I watched this amazing woman scrub her clothes on a washboard, wring them, rinse them, and  hang them to dry, while her two cars stood idly by and watched with wonder that must have equalled my own.

When I expressed surprise that she should be doing her own wash, she explained that she had no alternative because she couldn't send them out to the laundry because doing so would shorten the life of the garment! It's impossible, Chippie, to appreciate how impoverished these people are for the plain necessities of life—food and clothing, in spite of their handsome income (Dr. Davies paid ₤1100, or $4400.00 in income tax last year), their lovely home, gardens, etc! I know Mrs. Davies would give almost anything for a new dress, but she just doesn't have the coupons to get one. Carl Weil, a Yank who was a guest when I came up here on that last brief visit, got his mother to procure four pairs of silk stockings, which he sent as a gift to Mrs. Davies and Judith. Honey, it's almost pitiful to see how grateful she is for these things. The food situation seems to get worse instead of improving, despite the fact that V.E. day is more than two months behind us. Sugar and butter and cooking fats (lard) are in very short supply. She loves to get enough fat for frying! Meat is all but non-existent. In spite of her endless difficulties, though, I think Mrs. Davies is one of the happiest, most contented women I have ever seen. It seems that nothing is beyond her capabilities. She still has her "committees", her charities, etc., in addition to running the house, entertaining guests, corresponding with Judy, and other duties too numerous to mention. Yet I have still to see her in any degree discouraged, depressed, or even tired! Her unfailing good-humor is a constant joy and inspiration, and I often wish that I could be like her in that respect. Now she is contemplating a trip to America, and intends to pay her expenses by broadcasting on domestic science in the States. She has done quite a lot of that sort of thing over BBC here, and she thinks her connections with BBC can arrange for her to broadcast in America. At the moment, she's "working" her beloved "Wallie" to take a month's holiday and take her, but this is well-nigh impossible for the Doctor at present, although he may manage it next year. However, she is quite prepared and able to go alone if the Doctor will but give his consent (which I don't think he will). I pointed out that a month's holiday would give them barely a week in the States after deducting traveling time. Mrs. Davies wants to go ahead a month before the Doc starts, so she might have that extra time, but she confided to me that she doesn't think he'll allow it. I told her neither would I. She said "Don't tell him that!” I assured her I was on her side. Moreover, I repeated my invitation to stay with us when they do come to America, which certainly won't be for a year or two yet. By that time I'm sure we'll be in a position to receive them.—And so the morning passed.

After lunch, Mrs. Davies packed a picnic basket with cakes and buns, and a Thermos of hot tea, and drove me in her little car out to the moors. It was a lovely, sunny day for a ride in the country.—And what country! Darling, a hundred times I caught myself wishing fervently that you could be there with me to see it all. I couldn't begin to describe the sheer loveliness of the Yorkshire moors and dales. I was prepared, of course, to see some lovely scenery, but, for once the images I had in my mind proved pale things, indeed, beside the actuality of the wondrous, rolling hills, bare of trees, but covered in the varied greens of gorse, bracken and heather, the latter soon to bloom and cover this particular part of the world with a lush violet-lavender-purple carpet. When I try to find the words to describe the glorious scenic beauties of this section, I realize how incapable I am of doing them justice. One must see them as I was seeing them. One must see the seemingly endless vista of hill and dale, and “feel” the exaltation of standing atop a ridge and looking over a panorama stretching miles away to the far horizon. One must stand on the apex of the moors to sense the brooding mystery and loneliness of these treeless wastes—to really know and appreciate their appeal. In my lifetime, Sweet, I have thrilled to many beautiful scenes, landscapes, sea-scapes, etc., but never have I been so impressed and awed and delighted by sheer beauty and grandeur as I have been by the Yorkshire Moors and Dales. As I said to my companion, if I could find a comparable setting in theUnited States, that is the place I would choose to build my home and settle in. We rode down to a green dale beside a stream that was spanned by a centuries-old stone bridge. Here we sat in the shade of tall bushes and had our tea and cakes. Mrs. Davies pointed out a large, rambling castle perched on the side of a nearby hill. It was built by Henry VIII for Katherine Parr, the only one of his six wives that outlived him. Before that, we visited a little church that was built in 1409, but which is still being used today. It is in a state of perfect preservation, and I had the odd sensation that time had no meaning here. After I had written “Philip Strongin, Philadelphia, U.S.A." in the visitor's book, we departed the ancient church with its ancient tombstones surrounding it. By the time we had finished our tea, we had to start back (it was now about 5:30). We stopped once more on a crest on the moors, while Mrs. Davies pointed out the different types of vegetation. She gave me a sprig of white heather, which like the four-leaf clover is considered lucky. Arriving back at Meadowcroft, about 6:30, I went up to shave and wash, after which I joined the others at supper, which consisted of fried kippers, boiled potatoes, salad, rice pudding, cheese and coffee. After we had cleared the table, we went out beyond the garden, (which is lovely now,) to the bowling green, where Comdr. Healey and I teamed against the Davieses for a game of bowls. It was a lovely summer evening, and it was most pleasant to be playing out-of-doors. Tim and I proved no match for the very able team opposing us, and they trounced us by a score of 11-4. By this time it was 10 P.M., and we all relaxed in the library for an hour before retiring. I started this letter then, but had to give it up after a few pages, because I was very sleepy. We said our good-nights about 11 P.M. I awoke this morning at 8:30 and rose straightaway and dressed. I had breakfast with Mrs. Davies and then went into the library to get on with this. Shortly afterward, the girls came in to clean, so I moved, at my hostess’ suggestion, to the kitchen where I am now writing while Mrs. Davies stands nearby and shells peas. 

—Which all, sweetheart, brings me right up to date. One thing I forgot to mention was that I brought all my collection of snaps with me to show the Davieses. When they asked if I had received any new pictures I showed them the whole batch - old and new. Dr. Davies, being a man, said only that they were "very nice". Mrs. Davies had more to say. She remarked that you have a lovely smile, my sweet, (as if I didn't know!) and that the punkin resembled me, at which the good Doctor pricked up his ears and mumbled (just loud enough for me to hear) - “poor kid". He was kidding - of course!???

I'll stop for now, honey, and will continue when I have more to tell you. I love you, baby~

Post #680 - July 11, 1945 Although I Repeatedly Counsel Patience and More Patience, It's Mighty Difficult Not to Chafe at the Delay

 

11 July 1945

Dearest,

Didn't write yesterday or the day before - mainly because there was very little of interest to write about. My time was taken up exactly as all the other “routine” days. I went to the movies both nights and saw "Down Argentina Way" and "Rebecca", both of which I had seen before, but which I enjoyed seeing again, nevertheless.

Today, the eve of leaving on furlough, I alternated getting clothes ready and working in the Orderly Room. I'm all set to go now, and am trying to be patient waiting for tomorrow, when I take off. Murphy couldn't finagle his furlough after all (sometimes it doesn't pay to be First Sergeant), so it looks like I'm on my own again.

I may not get to write for a few days, Chippie, but like last time, I'll make it up to you. You may be very sure that I'll leave no detail unmentioned. I only hope that my leave will be an interesting one, so that my letter will make good reading for you. I say "letter” because I won't be able to mail any part of what I write until I get back to base.

Those snapshots we took a few weeks ago haven't come back yet, but we're expecting them daily. I'll probably be able to include them with the “furlough letter.” Wish I had some film to make pictures in Yorkshire, but I haven't, and there's none to be had, so I'll just have to keep on wishing— 

Your hasty V-mail of 4 July arrived yesterday, and your Air-Mail letter of 28 June came on the 9th. The latter brought, among other news, your evaluation of "Mike". I was gratified that you thought it "very good,” Chippie. As long as it pleased you, I'm perfectly content with my little effort. If it sells, and it will surprise me no end if it does, then I promise you that it is only the first of many more (some of which I have in my head already)

(turn over, honey-)

There hasn't been any new development as regards movement so the situation remains static, which means we’ll depart for home any time after the beginning of September. When I think, my lovely, that it may be only a matter of 8 or nine weeks 'til "us" becomes a reality again - until I can take my punkin in my arms, I am lifted to the skies—Believe me, honey, that although I repeatedly counsel patience and more patience, it's mighty difficult not to chafe at the delay. It seems all my hopes and dreams and desires have one focal point - the moment when I next hold you close to me. Everything before that is a blur of indefinite and meaningless things - everything beyond is anti-climactic. I need you so, Ev darling—Not until the ocean separated us did I have a clear conception of how very deep and all-encompassing is the love I bear you. It has been at one and the same time my despair and my salvation. It has kept me clean - worthy of one such as you, my sweet. In a word, it has kept me.

Your Phil

P.S. - That is of course, what part of me isn’t reserved for my own beloved punkin, Adele.

P.P.S. Love and regards to all.

P.P.P.S. I have yet to finish a letter without feeling the desire to say just once more - I love you, Evie", but I always desist for fear you will think me “mushy.” Tonight, tho’ I’m going to give in to that urge and you may think what you will of me for it - the uncontestable fact is - I do adore you, my Evie, right now and forevermore—

Post #679 - July 7, 1945 There Are Only a Small Percentage of G.I.'s Left in England Now

 

 

7 July 1945

Dearest Evie,

I wish you could experience the lovely weather we are having here now. Your letters tell me that you are sweltering in a heat wave. When I read this I can't help thinking how you would enjoy the English summer. The sun comes up early and shines all day long (without heat) until about 10 P.M., when it starts to set. I don't think we've ever had temperatures in the high 80's, let alone heat of 90° or more, as is common in the States. The winters over here are milder, too, but wetter. - So much for the weather. 

This evening I went to the movies to see "Belle of the Yukon” with Gypsy Rose Lee, Dinah Shore, Randolph Scott, Bob Burns and Charles Winninger. The story wasn't anything in particular, but the production (in Technicolor) was downright beautiful, as you will agree if you see it. Dinah Shore, one of my favorites, is always good entertainment, and Bob Burns provides good comedy relief. Gypsy Rose Lee isn't too hard to look at, either, or else I'm over here too long.

The dope about going home is that this outfit will hit the states in September, prob- ably, but most certainly by November. That is about all I know at the moment, honey, but I'll keep you posted as more information becomes available.

There are only a small percentage of G.I.'s left in England now. Their absence was very apparent last time I was in London.

After the show, I stopped at the Aero club to call the Davies' to advise them that I would be coming up on my furlough, which starts the 12th. First, though, I intend to visit London and Torquay for a coupla days. Murphy may come along, but he is having difficulty getting away.

Your letter of 29 June, arrived today, says that Syd is heading for N. Dakota. I don't get it! Didn't you say that he had enough points for discharge?

It says, too, that you were about to type "The Love of Mike". This was the first intimation I had that you had received it. I'm still waiting to hear how you liked it.

By the way, darling - I always mean to ask about Ben W. I haven't heard a thing about him in over a year. Where is he now? What is he doing, and does he say anything about coming home?

Sorry to hear that Harry's business is getting slack, but I imagine it will pick up when more gas becomes available to the public. 

Dave Chumley, who has the bunk next to mine, received “Valley of Decision” as a present from his sister. He has been reading it and telling me about it from time to time. So it struck me as a coincidence that your letter mentions that you made a date with Rae to see the picture at the Stanley. Hope you liked it, Sweet! - Which reminds me—you wrote some time ago that you saw “Meet Me in St. Louis" and that you didn't particularly care for it. I don't understand it! I saw it under lousy conditions (16 mm. film) and loved it.

By the way, Chippie, what are your favorite tunes these days?! I'm partial to "I'm Beginning to see the Light", mainly because I think the lyrics very clever. One day I'll take crack at writing a “popular" tune, too. Come to think of it, I did once. Remember “I Just Couldn't stay Away"? That was a long time ago. I feel I could do much better now.

Tomorrow is Sunday, and instead of working half-a-day like the rest of the Orderly Room personnel (the rest of the Sqdn. is off all day) I have the whole day off because I worked all day on the 4th July, when everyone else had a holiday. Don't know what I’ll do with the day off, though, ’cause all my clothes are at the cleaner's, and I won't be able to leave the base. Maybe I'll take advantage of the break to drop Dot a line. Poor kid, she's certainly had her share of trouble!

I liked your P.S. about the punkin asking you not to go to work any more. Darling, nothing would please me more than to know you are with her all day long. I sincerely hope that that will be possible soon—

Good night for now, baby. A kiss for Adele. I adore you, Ev! My love to all.

Ever,
Your Phil

Post #678 - July 5, 1945 Be Patient, Darling - It Won't Be Long Now—

 

5 July 1945

Dearest Darling,

Have been working day and night these past few days. Had to work late tonight, too, but I'm snatching a few moments before "lights out" to drop a few lines to you. The reason we are so busy is that higher headquarters is requiring report after report on personnel, and with over 200 men in the organization it’s one helluva job getting these reports out on the scant notice they habitually give us.

There really isn't very much to report, though, that is, as far as I'm concerned, I'm working hard and doing very little of anything else. To complete my growing feeling of boredom and general short-patience with everything, things are getting "G.I." as hell around here, and there's nothing I hate more.

The fact that I haven't had any mail from you for three days now doesn't help much, either.

You'll have to excuse me tonight, honey, but I'm really too fogged-out to think rationally, so I'll just say again that I love you very much, that you're to kiss Adele for me, and give my love to all. Be patient, darling - it won't be long now—

Lovingly,
Your Phil

P.S. Sgt. Fox, the finance clerk is on pass, but he'll be back tomorrow, when I will send you the $30.00. Buy some more clothes, Chippie.

Post #677 - July 1, 2, 1945 The Way Things Stand Now, I'm a Cinch to be Home in November At the Very Latest

 

1 July 1945

My Sweet,

Sorry I didn't get to write to you during the last few days of time, but I was in London on pass, and somehow I didn't get around to writing. However, I have a few items of good news that should more or less repay you for my lapse. But first about London—I was only on 48 hour pass, it being only two weeks since I had 72 hours at Walton-on-Naze. This time I didn't go to the Turkish Bath, remembering that the last time I did so I wound up in hospital. Instead, I went again to Covent Garden. Nor will I pretend that I didn't have an object in mind. A recent letter of yours, telling me that you saw Sonja Henie in "It's a Pleasure!,” which moved you to remark that you “just loved" to dance, and that when I come home we will practise and practise - until we are almost as good, reminded me that I hadn't danced since the company party in Norwich in November 1943. I got to wondering whether or not I still remembered how to dance, so I made up my mind that I was going to Covent Garden to dance (if I still could). The floor was very crowded as usual, but there must have been at least 3 girls to every man, and a whole flock of them were watching from the side-lines. After a hasty look ’round (I dared not look too long lest I weaken in my resolve), I spied a girl with a lovely face, very dark and very beautiful, so I asked her to dance. I hadn't danced more than half a dozen steps with her, though, when I was heartily sorry I had picked her. She was “heavy" and clumsy, and it was like pushing a dead weight around. I didn't ask her again. Then I noticed a young chick (about 18) leaning against the wall in the background. She was built pretty much on your lines, Chippie, and even had a slight facial resemblance to you, but it was the fresh, demure look of her that attracted me. I decided to ask her next. In the meantime, I had to go to the men's room. When I came out, she was gone. I guess I got discouraged, 'cause the next thing I knew, I was up in the balcony—watching. A little while later, on glancing around, I noticed half-around the balcony, a girl that looked like she might be the one I had missed. I walked around to investigate. Sure enough, it was her. She was sitting beside her sister, (I learned later) watching the dancers. When I asked her to dance, she looked surprised—probably because one doesn't ask a girl way up in the balcony to dance. But she came along willingly enough. This time it was a different story. She was light as a feather on her feet, and while she was far from an experienced dancer, she made up for her inexperience by her grace and lightness. Moreover, she flattered my masculine ego by remarking that she liked dancing with me because I was so easy to follow—ahem! Well, that was good enough for me, and it was evidently good enough for her, so we had the rest of the dances together. You will be happy to know, Sweet, that I managed plenty O.K. with all kinds of rhythms; tangos, rumbas, swing, waltz, merely by adapting my old straight step to the tempo. When I tried to “swing out,” though, I found that my partner just didn't know how to jitterbug, but I got around that by speeding up my dancing and “double-stepping" - that she understood. And that, honey, should give you a pretty good indication that while I may be a bit rusty in my dancing, I haven't altogether forgotten how. As for that “practising“ - just you ask me, baby, just you ask ~ The next day I spent mostly in the movies. I saw "Princess and the Pirate" (and loved the surprise ending - and Virginia Mayo), and "Thunderhead, Son of Flicka", which was a beautiful and interesting picture, even if it did lack a plot. At the Hans Crescent, where I went to get a bunk for the night, I ran into a friend from the base here. His name is Bernard Rothschild. He's a native of San Antonio, Texas, and a helluva nice guy. Did I tell you that Marty Weinstein was transferred and is destined for the Air Force of Occupation in Germany? Well, Bernie didn't see me when I walked into the big dining-hall at the Hans Crescent. He had two girls with very hebraic features, and figures like Ann Furr’s in tow. After I had my food on my tray, I walked over and sat down at the table next to Bernie without being noticed. Bernie was saying something about the Army to the girls, when I interrupted with "yeah, it's a rough life, isn't it?" He looked around quickly to see who the fresh guy was, but his features relaxed into a smile when he recognized me. Naturally, I was introduced to the girls, (who did terrible things with their lip-sticks), Connie and Fay Gottlieb. They had come up to the dance at the club with Bernie and were having a bite during the intermission. We talked a while and then went into the ballroom when the music started. Strangely enough, I wasn't in the mood for dancing that night, or my natural backwardness was reasserting itself, ’cause I sat down to watch. The band was G.I. and very good, but I made no attempt at dancing. Not, that is, until a cute little blond came over at the end of a number, which she had been dancing to with a G.I. and parked herself the chair next to mine. When took out my cigarettes I naturally offered her one. She accepted, and seemed to take it as a signal to start up a conversation. I learned before long that she was Scotch, but was working in London. She was very friendly and very cute, and reminded me a little of Sonja Henie when she smiled. I told her she looked like a little Swede. That's when she told me she was Scotch, and that her name was Barry Mac Neil (only the way she pronounced it it came out Bor-r-r-ee. When the band started to play “Stardust." I asked her to dance. She was a good little dancer, too, but in spite of her tininess, not quite as light or graceful as the other girl, whose name, incidentally, was Nora Randall. However, we got along very well together, and I did enjoy myself. When the dance was over, Bernie asked me if I would like to go along to the Gottlieb's with him and the girls, and keep him company on the way back (it was quite a long way). I was wide-awake and it was still light out, and the prospect of going to bed just then wasn't particularly appealing, so I said I'd be glad to. I met Mr. & Mrs. Gottlieb, had tea and cake with them, and discussed actors and actresses with the girls. We only stayed about an hour or so and then started back. It was about 10 o'clock when I finally hit the sack, but by this time I was ready for it. The next day I went to the movies in the morning after breakfasting with Bernie. I tried to get him to come along, but he doesn't care much for movies, and preferred to browse around. Before I left him, though, we made a date to meet at the Piccadilly Hotel at 4 o'clock, when there was a tea- dance. I went to the Odeon to see “I'll be Seeing you" (mainly because I wanted to get my first look at Shirley Temple since she grew up - I used to love her as a kid). It proved to be a very different sort of picture. I enjoyed Ginger Rogers and Joseph Cotten. Shirley is a very cute and attractive young lady—no argument about that—but her acting struck me as being noticeably self-conscious. The “crying scenes" were quite too forced to be anything but embarrassing, and I have a hunch that Shirley is through with dramatic roles. I can't understand why they don't cast her in a musical - she is certainly trained for it, and her good looks are most appealing. The tea-dance was an experience. The room where the dance was held is on the
order of our own Hotel clubs. The small dance floor was surrounded by tables, and five musicians held forth on the small stage. The violinist, who was very good, was assisted by a drummer, bass, sax and piano. They played very nice music, gypsy, latin rhythms, Viennese waltzes, Swing - everything. The lighting was provided by ornate wall-fixtures that gave off a pinkish glow that had the effect of neutralizing the gals make up. Bernie was waiting for me, and we went in. The first thing I noticed, after being seated and looking about, was the evident "class" of the women who, here too, were greatly in the majority. On closer inspection, however, and by close observation of their actions, mannerisms, and comportment when talking to the men who danced with them, I recognized them for what they were—the notorious "Piccadilly Commandos" - the high-priced variety. In spite of the fact that only about a fifth of the Americans remain in England, they still seem to do allight for themselves. - Sorry, honey, but the boys are yelling for me to put the lights out. G'night, sweetheart.

2 July 1945

Hello again, Chippie—I'll continue with my narrative now, 'cause outside of putting in a busy day, there isn't anything more to report. There wasn't any fresh mail today, either. Now - where was I? I see I was talking about the tea-dance and the "commandoes", but there isn't much more to tell. Bernie and I had sandwiches, tea, and cakes, the latter being very fancy (for England) and tasty. Bernie danced a few dances with different girls while I chewed the fat with a Lieutenant who joined us at table. So I killed the few hours remaining ‘til train time. So much for that. Now, for the news I promised at the beginning of this letter ~

First, and most important, I am no longer on the alert for transfer. Major Woolsey told me the glad tidings as soon as I set foot in the Orderly Room in the morning. The way things stand now, I'm a cinch to be home in November at the very latest. Unless, of course, the Army decides to give us in the Service Group another "screwing" (Pardon the expression, honey - I don't know a nicer word that would fit). The Fighter Group boys on our base just were awarded their 7th battle participation award today, which automatically makes every one of them eligible for discharge from the Army. - And we have been working side by side with them these past two years; usually doing the heavier and more important maintenance on the planes - and we have 35 points less than they. It means the difference between getting out of the Army in a few months, or sweating out the Pacific War! The guys in our Service Groups are going nuts with the injustice of it all. Some of the fellow's have written to tell their congressmen about it. American papers are receiving letters on the subject, and the Chicago Tribune printed a powerful editorial about it. Just wait until some of the Service Groups get back to the States, and the G.I.s get an opportunity to tell their folks about it - I promise you all hell will break loose if something isn’t done about the situation, which is explosive now. I've been playing with the idea of writing to Drew Pearson about it - I may yet! The Fighter Group boys are sympathetic, and freely admit that we are getting the rawest of deals, but there isn't anything they can do about it. I get so burned up when I think or talk about it, that I feel I could bust a strut! - But enough, before I really do blow my top! The second item of interest is that the final critical score will probably be about 75 points, which means that if I do get home, there is very little likelihood that I'll ever be sent overseas again. By November I'll have a current total of 81 points, which should be enough to get me out of the Army a few months later. Altogether, honey, (this business about BP stars notwithstanding), I'm pretty optimistic about my chances, aren't you? Item No. 3 - Now that I’m no longer alerted, I’m eligible for furlough. I expect to leave on 12 July and return on the 20th, I haven't quite decided what to do yet; or where to go, but I'm playing with the idea of going down to the south-coast to the lovely seashore resort of Torquay for the first few days, and then to Yorkshire to spend the rest of my holiday with the Davies'. Item No. 4 - I'm pretty flush at the moment, having held onto my money pretty well here of late, abetted by the fact that I won a few pounds at cards. My original intention was to send you the money to pay for those last few dresses you bought - after I returned from furlough, but I've decided that rather than risk spending it, I'll send off $130 tomorrow and get by on the remainder. I hope you find no fault with this arrangement, honey.

Well, Chippie, it's getting late again, and I think I've covered just about everything except, I love you so much, baby, that I get all trembly whenever I think that our long-looked-forward-to reunion may be imminent, and certainly cannot be more than a few months away. Chippie, if you could only know how sweet you are in my thoughts and heart and mind ~ Here's a kiss for you, darling. Give the punkin a good squeeze for me, and after you've delivered my kiss to her, tell her yet once again that I love her very much: My best love to Mom, your Mom and Dad, and all the kids. Regards to our friends and neighbors - I hope they don't hold it against me that I can't write to them occasionally. Tell Dottie I received her letter of 19 June, noted the contents, and will make a real effort to answer her soon. In closing, here's another kiss for you, my lovely ~

Expectantly, 

Your Phil

Post #676 - June 26, 1945 Today, At Long Last, We Were Given Some Definite Information as to Where We Are Going and When

 

26 June 1945

Evie, my darling,

Yesterday (Sunday) being a day off, Klein and I made an early start and hitch-hiked to Walton-on-Naze. It was a beautiful day, and we took good advantage of it. We arrived at Walton, where we were greeted very cordially by our British buddies, and got into our swim trunks straightaway. Then, after a bite to eat, we went to the beach. I hadn't swum a stroke in the past three years, so when Sgt. Jim Montgomery suggested that we walk out on the breakwater, dive off, and swim back in, I was a bit leary, but rather than have him think I was incapable or afraid, I took him up on it. Once on the breakwater, it turned out that Jim wasn't as sure of himself as he first pretended, but I dived first to reassure him, and he followed right after. I'm in pretty poor shape, and I had all I could do to swim to where I could stand on the bottom. I only recall one other time when solid footing felt so good. That was when Jeanette once dared me to follow her at Almonesson Lake. She swam out
so far that I almost didn't make it back. (But that's another story) ~ We sunned ourselves on the beach ’til lunch time, when we went back to eat - still in our bathing suits. After lunch we had another swim and another laze on the beach. The beach was crowded with holiday-makers, but only a very small percentage went into the water at all. They were perfectly content to sit around on the beach (in their street clothes) and drink bottles of tea or lemonade. - And kids! millions of them! And cute! Some of the kids were sweet enough to eat, no kiddin'! - which reminds me that I took a picture of a smiling little boy who caught my eye last time we were up to Walton. The pictures incidentally, won't be ready for a coupla weeks yet. Service is very slow here, and films literally unobtainable. Anyhow, we didn't leave the beach ’til tea-time (4:30). After tea, feeling very fresh and clean for my nap and swim, I dressed and went down to the billiard room, where I beat the ears off Bill (50-17). We caught the 8:50 bus back to Colchester, and there caught the base truck back to camp, arriving at 11:30.

This morning was spent working on those everlasting "Forms 20", the afternoon in transcribing the squadron pay-roll at the Finance Office. Today has been another very sunny, but cool June day! Your V-mail of 15 June and Air Mails of 4 and 18 June arrived today together with that package of candy you mailed in April. Your letters asked if the package arrived, and urged me to make some snaps of myself. I think I've taken care of both. Thanks for the candy, honey. That box of "Lafond" chocolates is really delicious, and those large chocolate bars are always very welcome, especially since they've cut our food rations 20% and we are barely getting enough to eat these days. 

Your letters contained several items of interest, Sweet. Among them were the information that you raised the rent to $45. I can only say that that's about what it should have been from the first, and even if the others didn't appreciate the saving your Mom made possible for them and us, I certainly did. One thing I would like to know in this connection. How are the expenses being divided now ? You say something about wishing that I were home to help you with the punkin and that you'd like to see how I'd handle her. From this angle, honey, it's very hard for me to conceive just how I would handle her, although I must admit I have a hazy notion that I'd have her in my arms so much of the time that she'd hardly have any time

or freedom to act uр. At any rate, your wish that I were with her cannot possibly be more fervent than my own.— 

The description of those new summer dresses you bought recalled to me how I used to love to see you in a pretty new dress, and how I used to enjoy watching you take it off at night - whoa - I won't go into that now. But they do sound real cute, and I'd dearly love to see you in them. - Especially that blue-gray that you paid $13.00 for. I hope the price didn't bother you too much, Chippie. I assure you it wouldn't phase me if you'd told me you paid $50.00 for a dress. If I can manage to get a few pounds ahead, I'll pay for those dresses - and love doing it. That's not blarney, baby, it's the simple truth.

Glad to learn that Bob has finally bestirred himself to do something about that voice he's been wasting for so long. I predict we'll be hearing many favorable reports about him.

I wasn't surprised that Goldie came hustling back to Philly. It must have been very lonely for her without Harry.

In speaking of Lena's pregnancy, honey, you inject so much of repugnance in your words that I couldn’t help but feel disturbed by it. Please, Chippie, remember that I am well-acquainted with your aversion, so there is no need to write in that vein. As for that "deathly fear" you have of it (being pregnant), I think it sounds rather silly under the circumstances, don't you?

That story about my grabbing you out of Syd's arms when you were dancing with him doesn't sound just right to me. That's not the way I remember it. I wouldn't have thought anything of your dancing with him if it hadn't been for something you told me about him - some “phenomenon” that you evidently found remarkable, but which almost revolted me. As it was, I don't remember that I cut in on you at all. Seems to me you finished a dance with him (on the sun-porch), came and told me your little tale and then I danced with you. I only defend myself in this instance because I've always prided myself that I was pretty successful at masking my terrific jealousy of you. Please try to remember the circumstances, Sweet, and tell me if I'm not right. Will you, dear? And what do you mean you "stood up for me"? I'm curious to know just how you justified my “ill manners" in this case. As for “neglecting" you to play cards, I can only say it would have been downright rude of me to do otherwise when I knew darned well that Uncle Nish came over with every expectation of a card game. Right now, I can't conceive how I'll ever be able to tear myself away from you long enough to play cards! So much for your letters.—

There has been no further word about my transfer. The rumors today say that we'll be going home in August, that we'll be going home in November, and that we’ll be here 'til Xmas or later. The one thing that everyone is sure of is that the 440th Air Service Group is going home, because all the men that are coming into the outfit have more than 85 points. What we don't know, is who of us will still be with the Group when it does go back home. Here's hoping, sweetheart!

Just room and time enough to tell you, darling, that my constant prayer is that I will be with you at home - soon. November won't be too hard to take—I adore you, my Evie. A kiss and a hug for Adele. Tell her that Daddy said to be a good girl. Love to all.

Your Phil

26 June 1945

Dearest Darling,

Today, at long last, we were given some definite information as to where we are going and when, approximately. Now before you get all steamed up, Chippie, I must remind you that I'm still alerted for transfer, and if it comes thru (the transfer), circumstances will be entirely altered. The odds are that the transfer will come thru, I'm only hoping now that it don't. Now, a teletype from 3d Air Division Hq was posted on our squadron bulletin board. It said definitely that this Service Group would ship to the United States "on or about" November 1945. There is a strong possibility that the shipment will take place some six or seven weeks before that, because the transport of troops is that far ahead of schedule. So now you know how the situation stands, Sweet, except for the unknown factor of my transfer. I've already told you what it would mean if I were assigned to another unit at this stage of the game–a quick trip to the Pacific, or a billet someplace in Germany in the Air Force of Occupation. So you would do well, honey, to keep it all in mind.

Last night, before I wrote to you, Klein and I went to the early show to see "Hangover Square" with Laird Cregar, Linda Darnell and George Sanders. It was neither good nor bad—one of those so-so pictures. But Linda Darnell is some tomato. She is very beautiful, but there is something wicked and evil about that type of beauty - else I'm too impressionable.

Today again I spent my time on the Forms 20. The fellow who is supposed to replace me, 39 years old, a lantsman from New York, named Murray Magdol, was the merchandising manager of a Lerner store in New York in civilian life. I asked him what he could save me in the way of clothes bills for you. He said to come around sometime when we're both in civvie street and he'll give us an “in” with the wholesalers. I was only kidding, but maybe we'll take him up on it some day - huh, Chippie?

I just pulled a fast one on Klein. We walked down to the snack bar for a sandwich and coffee. When Klein, who happened to be very hungry (as per usual), picked up seven egg sandwiches and put them on his plate, I told him he was a pig, and ventured a guess that he wouldn't eat them all. He immediately became very indignant and offered to bet he would eat every bite. I told him to name the amount he wanted to bet. He said "half-a-buck". I said "it's a bet", reached over, took a bite out of one of his sandwiches and calmly informed him that he lost. Well, he didn't like the way I won, but he couldn't deny that he had lost the bet, either. I've been teasing him about it ever since. Some fun, hey, kid?

The weather today wasn't quite as nice as it had been, but it was nice and cool, and the clouds cleared in the evening. The days very long now - it doesn't get really dark ‘til about mid-night. We usually turn in about 11,0'clock, when the sun is just setting.

That's about all I have to say tonight, sweetheart, so I’ll bid you still another fond adieu, kiss you full and lingeringly on your sweet lips, squeeze your exciting body as close to mine as I possibly can, and whisper the thing my heart is full to bursting
with ~ I adore you, my Evie ~ Kiss our punkin for me. My love to all.

Ever,
Your Phil

Post #675 - June 22, 1945 For My Money, Though, the Points System Isn't Worth a Damn

 

22 June 1945

My Darling,

There was no mail either today or yesterday. Once more, subject matter for a letter is scarce, but I'll probably think of something before long - I usually do.

The orders for my transfer haven't come through yet. I have a sneaking hunch that Wing has cancelled the transfer. Don't ask me if I'll be sorry if such is the case, ’cause I don't know what the change would mean. The suspense is terrific, though, and I do wish they'd let me know something, one way or the other.

Went with Klein this evening to the base theater to see "Sharyn Moffett in "My Pal Wolf", a sentimental little story about a little girl and a dog. Sharyn is a sweet kid, and a swell little actress and made the picture worth while. I couldn't help thinking that our own punkin will be pretty close to her age and size (maybe) by the time I get to see her.

We're having lovely June weather, for a change; believe it or not, Sweet, it didn’t rain once today. I think that's some kind of record for this part of England.

Did I tell you that by my furlough has been snafued by my being alerted? I had planned to take my old top-kick, Sgt. Murphy, a likeable young Irishmen, up to meet the Davies' on 1 July. If my transfer is cancelled and nothing prevents, we may do so yet.

The "Stars & Stripes" said yesterday that the final critical score will be "over 70". I figure if it were to be between 75 and 80, the paper would have said "over 75". Sounds to me like it'll be about 74, which is just 5 points more than I have to my credit. A margin of 3 days deprived of that 70th point I thought I had. Which reminds me, honey, that you couldn't have thought very much about the fairness of getting points for my Enlisted Reserve time. You seemed to think the Army had done me an injustice by not giving points for the time I was home and working at my job. Would you put me in the same category as the guys who served actively all that time? No, Chippie, although I would give every penny we have in the world to have those 12 points, I can't, in all honesty, feel that I'm entitled to them. For my money, though, the points system isn't worth a damn. It has only served to cause a lot of hard feeling between certain sections of soldiers, and against the dim-wits who were responsible for the plan—but I better "get off it", as the Limeys say, before I blow a fuze. Every time I think of that "BP awards" deal I burn to a crisp, no kiddin'!

You may have noticed, honey, that I'm not my usual “sparkling self” tonight. I’ve been forced to the desperate expedient of “small talk” to fill in the white space tonight. (Isn't there a lot of that white space tonight, though!) (When I talk about the weather, Chippie, it's a sure sign I have darned little to write about.)"

~ Which all brings me down to the part where I try convey to you, my lovely lovely (that's no mistake - merely an inspiration) just how much you mean to me. I say “try", because as long as I've been writing on the subject I still can't feel that I've been able to express fully my ever-growing love for you, my darling. There just aren't words enough, or of the right significance to describe what I feel about you. I’m constantly plagued by the thought that perhaps you don't really know the extent of my love for you. Maybe some day soon I’ll get another opportunity to convey all that is within me to you - first hand. After all, love has a very special language of its own - remember? A kiss for Adele and love for all from 

Your Phil


22 June 1945

Dearest,

I've given up hope of ever finding the time to type “The Love of Mike", so I've decided to send it on you as is. Hope you like it, honey, but in case you don't, I assure you that I can and will do better some day—

‘Night, baby—I adore you—

Love from
Your Phil