Post #372 - May 22, 23, 1944 Adele is Becoming Fresher By the Day and I Most Certainly Would Like to See You Gain Some More Weight

 

May 22, 1944 

My Own, 

Sorry I must resort to v-mail again, but I find myself with little to say and hence find it wiser to use this form. I feel much better today and I'm inclined to believe it was my period that caused the ill-feelings. Believe it or not, I'm finished and it isn't quite three days. That is unusual for me, as you well know and can well be the cause of my feeling so ill. It is and has been terribly hot all day long. I hate this kind of weather and I hate the washed out feeling that usually accompanies it. Oh well - such is life!

Adele is becoming fresher day by day. She picks up her hand to slap at the slightest provocation or remark or action by anyone, including myself. I had to interrupt this after the first paragraph to go upstairs and rock and sing her to sleep. The heat has her too and she started to cry, being unable to fall asleep. I give her a lot of cool tea with lemon and she has learned to call it “tee-tee”. Every so often she comes out with a word, doesn't know what she is saying, or does know and forgets. Today, for instance, she came out with the word “hichair” as clear as a bell. She couldn't repeat it when asked. That's how they learn to talk. She’ll soon be able to use two or more words and perhaps small sentences. I gave her two baths today, one in the afternoon before her nap and one this evening. I'm going to give myself a good rubdown and a cool shower before I hit the hay. I'm very perspired and uncomfortable. 

I didn't get the opportunity, sweet, to mail off the package and promise to do so tomorrow without fail. Do you want me to get more chewing gum or chiclets? I don't know if I can get chewing gum, but I think I can get chiclets. 

I had a nice v-mail from Milt and he has been very thoughtful. He writes to me whenever he gets the opportunity, even if he doesn't get mail from me. I must try to write to him more often. 

My mother washed for me again today, thereby saving me a big job. She also washed our summer quilt (the one Lil gave us) and it washed beautifully. I thought I'd get to see “Song of Russia” with R. Taylor at the Lindley this evening - but no go. Mom went to see it with Mrs. Feldman. I'll try to catch it when it comes to the Broad. It's almost three weeks since I've been to a movie, and I'd rather like to see a good one when I do go. There hasn't been much of any account playing around lately. 

You have it chum - to use the English way - sorry, though, that you can't have me personally. But I hope that day isn't far off - the day of reunion when we’ll have each other to have and to hold and to love! I adore you, my darling Phil, and want very much to whisper it in your ear. Now, if you'll just come a little closer, - closer - closer - ah, that's better. I love you, and if you don't mind a bit of demonstration this hot night, here's a big hug and a couple of million kisses from 

Your Eve 

23 May 1944 

Ev, my darling, 

Just returned from London this afternoon. The train I was supposed to come back on was cancelled and I had to wait ’til the next one. Result: I reported two-and-a-half hours late. But since it wasn't something that could have been foreseen, nothing was done about it. 

The train to London yesterday was so crowded that I had to stand all the way. However, I had a great view of the country we were passing through and I hardly minded the tedium of standing. It (the country) was really lovely, Sweet, and I wished a thousand times you might be there to see it. Spring, in all its heartening evidences of new life, made itself felt in the very air. Each flower and shrub was dressed in its “Sunday best.” 

Once arrived in London, and more specifically, Leicester Square, I strolled about to see what pictures were showing. The first one that caught my eye was ”See Here, Private Hargrove!” with Robert Walker (yeah, I know he's Jennifer Jones’ husband, and she has two kids, and she's suing for divorce etc., etc.), Donna Reed, Keenan Wynn, and others. Well, Chippie, I enjoyed this one—very much. Robert Walker, whatever else he may be, is a most gifted and personable young actor. He is Private Hargrove—to a “T”! Donna Reed is lovelier than I have ever seen her. (At times, she is downright eatable.) Keenan Wynn, though, does everything but walk away with the show. He is Pvt. Hargrove's finagling buddy, and his characterization is both convincing and amusing. The plot is a very unimportant factor in this, and no one is apt to complain for the lack of it. The dialogue is “real” and sparkling, the direction flawless—and the cast makes it all entirely worth-while. 

“Fanny by Gaslight” (don’t ask me wherefore of the title) was the piéce-de-résistance of the evening. It was recommended by one of the guys in the company, so I thought I'd give it a try. It is a Gaumont-British production (the first worth-while effort I have seen to date) and surprised the pants off me by its excellence. A very “meaty” story of England in the ’70’s. It runs a full two-and-a-half hours. Phyllis Calvert is appealing as Fanny; James Mason, a very tall Englishman, is good as the romantic lead, and the cast generally is competent (if not too photogenic). In this one, “the plot’s the thing”—and quite a thing! I couldn't help but wish that the players were American—that the picture came out of Hollywood. What a job they could have done on it! British-acted and produced as it was, though, it was entirely creditable and I enjoyed it immensely. (Note: The book should be wonderful—come to think of it—didn't you mention it a while back Chippie?) 

After a late snack at the Eagle Club, I repaired to the ever-lovin’ Turkish Baths—of course! For the second time in so many visits, I played guide “ex-officio” to three Yanks who were new to the place and didn't know their way around. In the process, I managed to steam myself like a lobster. If you were aware of an outside influence at “date time,” pay it no mind—it was only the masseur, who was intimately occupied with my body at the time. 

This morning, waking at eight o’clock, I rose immediately—meaning to get to the station early to get a seat on the train. After a hasty breakfast at the Eagle, I wasted no time getting there—only to find the ten o'clock train had been canceled (as were many others). The next train to where I wanted to go was the 11:10. It was now only 9:30, and already the queue for the 11:10 was forming! There was nothing for it, but to “sweat it out.” I got mighty tired standing—I can tell you! Finally, when the mob was let through the gates, I made a dash for the train and managed, by sheer luck, to spot a last seat in a compartment that was already all but full. The trip back was delightful. First, because the bright May sun over the landscape enhanced the beauty of the prospect. Second, because in the seat opposite, a woman was holding a most adorable baby—a little girl of about two-and-a-half years—blonde and blue eye, and cute. 

I could hardly pull my eyes away from her. The mother looked at me oddly from time to time and—no wonder—you remember my distressing habit of “staring holes” in anything that attracts me. She must have thought I was nuts! Of course, I couldn't help conjecturing what my own punkin will look like at that age—and if I will have the rare privilege of holding her and fondling her about that time. You can bet I was missing her very much all the way of the journey, and envied the mother of that little girl the feeling of the baby in her arms. How I longed for my own sweet punkin—and how empty where my arms for the need of her! So big grew the “lump,” and so high did it climb in my throat, that I was forced to tear my eyes and my thoughts from the baby across the aisle—to find solace in the peace of calm green vistas. 

There was no real mail yesterday, but today I received your letters of 11th and 12th May and Jack N’s letters, which you forwarded. 

Your concern with Harry’s criticism of your action in allowing that most kind sailor to give you and the punkin a lift is, in a word, unwarranted. Harry would do well to consider his own inconsistent ethics before presuming to criticize anyone else’s! If he really wants to know what I think of the whole business—here it is: In the first place, no man is so depraved that he will seek to take advantage of a woman with a baby and tow. Anyone who would think for a moment that the sailor offered you a lift under the circumstances with an ulterior motive in mind Is an out and out fool. As a matter-of-fact, under the circumstances, it would have been most unkind and unfeeling of you to refuse his offer because of any inherent distrust of strangers, or an instinctive impugning of unworthy intentions. Truth to tell, Chippie, I wish I knew where to get touch with that considerate sailor—I'd like to thank him. 

I'm proud to know that Ethel “loved” the sweater you made for Stuart, and it was nice of her to gift Adele with that pinafore. But I don't get your point in drawing the pinafore in invisible ink. You wrote “it looks something like this,”—and then there's a blank space! Really, Baby, sometimes I just can't fathom you! 

It certainly was swell of Fay and Morris to take Mom to Ethel’s and to bring you all home again. You may tender them my most heartfelt thanks for the kindness they have shown my dear ones. 

The fact that you put on a few pounds, Chippie, certainly comes under the heading of good news. I most certainly would like to see you gain some more weight. 

Don't jump at conclusions, Baby,—just because I don't tell you that I won at cards doesn't necessarily mean that I lost. It just means that I see no point in mentioning winnings that might very easily disappear at the very next “session.” It just so happens that I won about $20.00 on that particular night you mention—so there now! 

Since nothing in your letter of the 12th calls for comment, and because it is just about “date time,”—and, therefore, bedtime, I’ll sign off now with all my love to my adorable Chippies, and to Mom, and to Harry and Goldie, and to all the Pallers. Tell Harry that I hold no brief with him—every man has a right to his own convictions— and I’d be the last one in the world to let our differences in this respect influence the brotherly affection I feel for him. The days of dislike and distrust and, yes, I'll admit it—disgust I felt for him are far, far in the past. He has proved himself to be a conscientious husband and son and brother, and I admire him for it, because I know, better than anyone, what he had to go through to attain that stature. God bless you all. 

Yours, ever-lovingly, 

Phil

May 23, 1944 

Dearest Phil, h

Here I am again via v-mail. The weather made a decided change today from hot to cool. Since it was Gimbel Day and Sarah was spending the day in town, I decided to meet her when Adele napped and try to get myself a dress and sports shoes. Adele, by the way, was a model child today. She ate well, asked to “go” every time, didn't get into too much trouble and added many new words to her fast growing vocabulary. She now calls Betty “Betty” and says the word “hot” distinctly. She enunciates perfectly and even the “t” in hot is very clear. When I placed her in her bath last night, she said “Hot!” (The water was just a bit too warm). She pronounces “light” minus the “l”. She's inclined to be neat. I took her into Mrs. Frommer's this morning and a carpet was slightly messed. She bent to straighten it and even straightened the fringe properly. She was pulling the chairs in the dining room about and when I asked her what she did to the chairs she promptly replaced each one. All of which means less work for mother and which pleases me no end. 

As I was saying, I put Adele to sleep at one and skipped into town. I met Sarah at exactly one-thirty at the shopped about. I almost bought a dress that had been reduced from $17 to $8. It was a pea green and brown paisley, very plain but very nice. The print was hard on the eyes and it made me hesitate, so much so that I decided against buying. We tried almost every shoe store on Chestnut St. and I couldn't get a nice pair of sport shoes. I wound up buying a pair of stockings, just so I wouldn't have to go home without a package. I did see one thing I would have loved to buy—a pair of earrings—$8. They were oblongs of aqua with small gold leaves and very, very pretty. If they still have them after I get my next check, I might splurge and buy them. I need so many other things that I can't see the sense to buying earrings right now. 

I was back at 3:45. Adele awoke at three, Mom dressed her, Harry put her in the playpen and that's where she was when I walked in. She was so glad to see me! And especially with “Ar-ah”! She didn't know what to say! I finished my work early this morning, and honey, I'm ashamed to say that I did not mail off the packages as I promised. Tomorrow, come what may, I must go to Broad St. and the package will be on its way to you. 

I had a letter from Eddie today with a picture enclosed. It's the same size as yours. He looks positively handsome and I could hardly believe it was he. I owe him a letter, which I hope to get off this evening. Last night, after mailing your letter, I managed to squeeze in a  letter to Milt Brown. 

Adele awoke many times during the night due to the heat. It's a good thing I napped with her yesterday or I would be “duped” this evening. Did you hear her call you?— she yelled “Daddy” all morning long! I keep telling her that Mommy loves Daddy and I kiss your picture to sort of make it clearer. Oh baby, how I would like to kiss you! Mommy loves Daddy so much!

Your Eve

Post #371 - May 20, 21, 1944 Goldie Did the Cooking and Now Helps Mom in the Kitchen and I’m Minus Another Molar

 

May 20th, 1944 

My darling, 

I went to bed feeling very crampy last night and awoke during the night to find myself unwell. I didn't feel well all day yet I kept my promise by going to Ethel's with Gloria. Ruth wanted to get a dress (we weren't able to get anything Wednesday night) and we decided to try Frankford Ave. As soon as Adele was asleep, we left, Sarah having promised to dress her when she awoke. We took the “J” bus and exchanged to the 59 car. In between changes, we stopped at a few dress stores on Frankford Ave. where Ruth got a nice red, white and blue gingham dress for $8. I sent Ruth home to care for Adele and Glo and I went to Ethel's. We went to deliver the package Glo had brought for Stuart. We stayed about two hours, during which time Mickey showed us most of her wardrobe. Stuart is still ill and Ethel doesn't know what to make of it. It's over 10 days and the doctor insists there is nothing to worry about. He has a bad cold and runs a fever from time to time. I was supposed to take care of Stuart today as I told you, but naturally the whole thing was called off. 

The ride to and from Ethel's made me terribly ill and nauseous. Phil, we must get a car someday or I shall be ill every time I must go somewhere. I can't stand the rocking sensation and it seems to get worse and worse. For a while there I was doing alright, but now I can't stand it at all. Ruth took Adele out while I was gone so that she would have her daily “airing.” When I got back, I managed to feed Adele and eat myself before I found it necessary to lie down. After a short rest, I felt a little better and got Adele to bed for the night. I still don't feel any better and I attribute most of it to my period. 

Gloria took Mom to the Lindley to see a double feature and I didn't care to accompany them feeling the way I do. Mom, by the way, and I thought it best not to tell you, was very ill last month with a bad case of the grippe that kept us all on our toes. You know Mom—never fails to get a good cold each winter. She rushed the season by wearing a spring coat when it was too chilly. She has been fine of late. Goldie did the cooking and now helps Mom in the kitchen leaving her very little to do. Goldie does most of the shopping in the neighborhood. I usually do the “long range” shopping up to Broad Street, 11th St., etc.

Gloria’s short hair isn't as flattering as her long hair, but it is neat and easy to keep, which is just as important. She figured she'd do it while Jack was away to make it easier for her. 

There isn't much else to say, sweet, except perhaps that Milt Brown won $400 in a crap game on New Guinea, which he sent home immediately for fear he would spend it in another game. Wonder how much he lost before he won that much? Keeping our date, honey, and hope that soon it will be for real. I adore you darling, and want very much to “demonstrate.” In the meantime, it's by the typewriter or pen (as you choose) — 

Your Eve 

21 May 1944 

Dearest, 

Couldn't write last night, 'cause I had a toothache that was too distracting to permit it. During the afternoon, the ache was negligible, but in the evening, it really began to hurt. I knew it was too late to catch the dentist in, so I called the hospital to find out what could be done. The assistant told me to come down and he’d think of something. So I hopped on my bike and rode down. The bothersome molar was the bottom left rear one. The cavity was hard to get at, at least too much so for the assistant’s capabilities. The ache was getting worse by the minute, and, to make matters worse, had brought on a splitting headache. I knew that if I didn't get relief somehow, I would be in for a terrible night. The assistant gave me six aspirins and a phenobarbital tablet and told me to take them all just before turning in. They knocked me out—but good! This morning I had one helluva time dragging myself out of bed. But the aches and pains were gone, thank God. At nine o'clock this morning, I went back to the dentist. He chipped away most of the tooth to see if it could be saved, but no soap—it was too far gone. So—I’m minus another molar. However, there is a bright side to the story. Do you remember, Sweet, that my “bite” was bad? That I could never quite get my front teeth to meet? Well, with the removal of this tooth I find I am able to close my jaws solidly, and that there is no longer that ungainly gap in front when I do so. Altogether, I'm happy about the whole thing. 

Your V-mail of 13 May arrived yesterday, and that of the 15th arrived today. I had been looking for your letter of the 14th to inform me whether or not you and the Moms received my flowers on Mother's Day. But your letter of the 15th answers my questions on that score very nicely. You mention cutting the stems, putting a little salt in the water, etc etc. 

Sorry that C.P. (Clair Pruett) is keeping you waiting for the pictures, but I can be patient now. 

Glad to hear that Ed got his Cpl.’s rating. The son-of-a-gun owes me a letter. 

Whatever happened to Ruth's letter containing the snaps? They are way overdue. 

Not surprised to hear that Milt is in New Guinea—kinda figured he'd land there. Look for things to start popping down there now—what with Jack, Ben and Milt all there. 

Seems like all you Moms fared O.K. on Mother’s Day. It was darn nice of Lil to remember Mom with a box of candy. I'm still waiting to hear from her. Why doesn't she write? 

The Scarlet Fever injections you are so reluctant to impose on the punkin can wait, I think. I think your assertion that they make 99% of the kids sick, is exaggerated, and it really should be done, regardless, but don't let it worry you too much for the time being. Did you ask Doctor Gayl whether there was any point in giving her the “shots” in the summer time? I feel, as you do, that the Fall would be a more favorable time. 

There isn't much of any kind of news around here, Chippie. Tonight the attraction at the Base Theater (just named “Thunderbolt Theater”), is Ann Miller in “Hey, Rookie!”—need I say more? Tomorrow, if the weather is clear, I intend to go to London. See you then, Sweet (wish I could change that “then” to “there.”)! 

My deep and everlasting love to you, darling. A big hug for daddy's Adele—and my love to all. 

Lovingly, 

Your Phil 

P.S. Just remembered to include a request for more candy. Do you need one for the pictures? If so—here it is—right here—>(request pictures)

May 21, 1944 

My Sweet, 

I still don't feel well. Headache and nausea have had me in their grip most of the day. I usually feel weak and crampy; this time, it's headache etc. I hope I feel better tomorrow. I hate to feel this way. 

Today, nevertheless, was an interesting one. Ruth brought a British mariner, who will be 18 shortly, home to introduce him to the family. She met him on the subway and he didn't know his way about. We gave him a box of chocolates, a large box of ice cream, a glass of milk and cake. I even took a picture with him and Adele. Petey made several pictures of us, one of Glo with the baby, one of me, Adele and the mariner. He went for Ruth and took her to the movies this evening. He had many, many interesting stories to tell, and I was a most interested listener. He left his address, which is Cadet John Bingham Wheeler, Parkdale, Sedgley, S. Staffs, England. We gave Cadet Wheeler your address in the hope that he may contact you someday. He is a shrewd, intelligent fellow and I could scarcely believe he will be 18. He seems so much older and wiser. He said a few things that I didn't like. He said that his folks do not like Yanks, but that they had never met Yanks in the circumstances he had. He does not like the way our gov’t has sent so many Yanks to England. They, he went on to say, don't have enough to do, insufficient entertainment and therefore get into all sorts of trouble, especially with the girls. He thought it would be better if they had sent fewer, better trained men to do the job. He is very strong-minded and sort of reminds me of you in that respect. He comes from Birmingham. 

Ben promised to get me a box of peanut chews and I secured it this morning. I'll mail them off tomorrow along with the pictures, sweet. 

Adele called Gloria “doria” and then shortened it to “dah.” She pulled something the other day that surprised both Sarah and myself. Adele wanted Sarah to accompany us upstairs. When ready for bed, Sarah quietly said, “Well, I think I'll sneak out now to avert a fuss.” Adele came up with the big, “bye-bye” that shocked us all. I wonder if she knew what she was saying? 

Gloria read us all your cleverly-written v-mail. You sure can be cute! She made the 7:30 train this evening. Gosh, but the weekend flew. Goldie's doctor called at the house today to examine her and save her the trouble of traveling downtown. He's very young and good looking. He thinks she'll hold out till June 9, the date he set. 

I'm anxious to hit the hay in an effort to throw off this headache. If my letters seem a little dull I hope you'll understand. It's an effort to write it all. It's never an effort, though, to tell you how much I love you, my dearest hubby, and how I long to see and be with you. The mariner thinks, from personal observation and knowledge, that the war will last another two years. He was in a convoy to Murmansk and had plenty to say about it. We'll discuss it someday when you can disclose all you know—O.K.! Mind if I say I love you, sweetheart, just once more? 

Your Eve 

Post #370 - May 19, 1944 Gloria had a Glamour Portrait Made and You Aren’t the Only One Whose Sleep is Interrupted

 

May 19, 1944 

Dearest Mine, 

I worked a full day for Miss Hahn, my second full day this week. She is experiencing difficulty in securing another girl and is very anxious about it. She asked if I wouldn't kindly come in next Thursday and perhaps for a few hours on Tuesday, if it is at all possible. I didn't promise I would. I said I would if my mother could find the time to care for Adele. 

In the meantime, the mailman brought your two bonds (Mar. and Apr.) and a nice long letter from Eddie. I think it takes about three weeks (the same amount of time that it takes for a check to arrive) for the bond to get here. I'll be able to judge with the next bond. Sweet, how many bonds do you think I'll receive before I receive you? Still think you'll see me in ’44? I know you won't, but I sincerely hope I'm wrong. 

Gloria arrived early - alone. The plans for the trip to Washington fell through. Phil, Gloria had a glamour portrait made by Lorstan (a N.Y. photographer), an oil painting, and, Phil, you just ought to see that picture! First of all, they glamourized her - but good. She looks very much like Brenda Marshall. The picture is, in a word, gorgeous and far surpasses anything I've seen by Clair Pruett. Frankly, baby, I'm not so stuck on Pruett's work. He does nice work, but I've seen better, much better. If he (Lorstan) could make me look that good I'd be a more than willing customer. Gloria is wearing a white blouse with a large ruffled collar and a lovely pin at the deep v-neck, and a pair of white earrings. Her hair is styled unusually high in a pompadour effect, her ears showing, and the back of her hair is curled into a most becoming pageboy. She is leaning back slightly, looking upward, serious expression. Of course he put on false eyelashes, but it isn't that so much as the lovely coloring of the picture that makes for such attractiveness. Her picture, standing beside those made by Clair Pruett, makes our pictures look faded. Naturally, oil painting isn't a little coloring, so I shouldn't really make comparisons. Nevertheless, I would like you to see Glo’s picture. It's an 8 x 10, the total cost of which was but $3.50. It was an advertising stunt and would cost approximately $5 regular. Someday we must visit Lorstan. 

Gloria bought Mom a pinafore and a housecoat for Mother's Day. The pinafore fitted nicely, but the housecoat was too small and will have to be exchanged. Gloria also brought along something for Stuart and we hope to pay Ethel a visit tomorrow. Stuart has been running a temperature all week and seems to have a good case of the grippe. It's unusual in one so young and has had Ethel on the go continually, leaving her worn and weary. Al can't stand to see her take it on the lam so much. I can just imagine how you would feel if you could see me some days. Adele, bless her little heart is work - real hard work. Parents pay a frightfully high price for the love of children, but it is worth it in the end - or so let us hope. Some have been disillusioned. I don't think we will be. So long for now, my darling, and now that we can stretch out in bed, would you mind moving a little closer to your 

Adoring 
Eve 

19 May 1944 

My Sweet Evvie, 

Last night, as you probably know from Mom’s letter, I was CQ. I took advantage of the opportunity to write that letter to Mom, which I have delayed so long. It was 11:30 before I finished and hit the sack immediately. My sleep was twice interrupted during the night. The first time the phone bell rang, it was one of our lieutenants calling from a nearby town to leave a message. This was about 12:30. At 2 o'clock. the insistent ringing of the phone bell roused me again. This time it was the motor pool dispatcher reporting a wreck, so I had to get Sgt. Yahner out of bed, too. After that I wasn't disturbed—’til 4:30, when the operator gave me a ring. It was now time to wake the K.P.’s. Before turning in again, I left word with the operator to give me a ring at 6. At that time I woke the company—switched on all the lights in the huts, and—still more sleepy than hungry, decided to pass up breakfast, which I never eat anyway, in favor of grabbing another snooze. So I crawled between the blankets once more—this time fully clothed. At eight o'clock Sgt. Murphy woke me. So you see, Chippie, you aren't the only one whose sleep is interrupted. Fortunately, I only catch CQ every tenth day or so. 

There was very little to do in the Orderly Room today, luckily. I say “luckily” ’cause I didn't feel much like working, anyway—I was still sleepy. 

This evening I saw “Song of Bernadette” at the Base Theater. It is a very moving story and a most absorbing picture. Jennifer Jones, in my estimation, is a most talented actress. The picture is of two-and-a-half hours duration, but contrary to what the critics say of it, I didn't feel that it dragged at any point. 

When I returned from the movie, I proceeded to get shaved and cleaned up generally—something I couldn't find time for all day. 

For the past two days now, I haven't had mail from you, Sweet. Yesterday, there was a letter from Limey. He had written it on the 10th and made the date for the 13th. I received it on the 18th. I don't know how he figured—unless he didn't know that three days is much too short a time to expect the letter to reach me. But I don't expect to be able to meet him in any case, much as I'd like to. He named Nottingham as the meeting place, and I would find it extremely difficult to get there on a twenty-four hour pass. I'll see if we can’t make some other arrangements. 

Well, darling, it is just 11 o'clock—I love you, Baby—you're so sweet—. My love to the punkin and all the folks. 

Lovingly,
Your Phil

Post #369 - May 17, 18, 1944 I’d Like to Write a Little About Adele and I Would Very Much Like You to Take My Mom, and Your Mom and Dad, Out for an Evening of Fun

 

17 May 1944

Dearest Darling,

Yesterday afternoon, just after I finished your letter, the mail came in. There were three packages and your V-mail of 8 May. The packages were two of yours, and one of Gloria’s. Altogether, there was a box of plain Hershey's, and a box of Peanut Chews and Hershey Almonds (one package); while Gloria’s contribution consisted of two boxes of Loft’s chocolates. Needless to say, I was delighted with both the quality and the quantity of the sweets. I reckon I'll have enough to last me a month or more. The fact that the other boys in the hut share the candy with me to detracts not one whit from the appreciation and gratitude I feel for your magnanimity. If you could see for yourself, Sweet, how much the guys enjoy the candy, I'm sure you would consider your money and efforts well rewarded. Your packages were only slightly “beat up” due to insufficient packing, but the contents were not damaged in any way. Gloria's package, wrapped at the shop, evidently, and reinforced with corrugated board, arrived in perfect condition. Thanks, Sweet, for the sweets.

In the evening, I was just settling down to write my second letter of the day (on account of the packages, your V-mail, etc.), when one of the fellows from the next hut stuck his head in to ask if I felt like playing some poker. Well, you know the answer to that one, Chippie. Still, if I hadn't already written that day, I think I would have declined. As it turned out, I would have been some $9 poorer had I persisted in the notion of writing instead of playing. At the time, I am a little to the good, and I thought it would be a good idea if I sent along some of my winnings before I lose it or spend it. I'm enclosing two $5.00 bills, which I obtained from two guys who happened to have them. They are yours to do with as you like, but I have a suggestion to make as to their disposal. I would very much like you to take my Mom and your Mom and Dad, out for an evening of fun. Pick out a good play or movie in town, and after the show, take them to Kugler's or some other good restaurant for a meal. If you could find a coupla extra bucks, I'd prefer that you use taxis for transportation. The best evening might be spoiled for them by the drudgery of subways and walking. If you decide on a movie, there should be enough for the taxis, but if you get seats for a show, there probably won't be. I think they would prefer the latter course, Sweet, but you can work that out among yourselves. I'm sure Ruth would stay with the punkin if you explained the circumstances to her. It would be a great source of satisfaction to me, Baby, if you could manage it. Please try. Of course, as I said before, I'm not attaching any conditions to the money—I'm merely suggesting how I would like to see it spent. There may be factors involved with which I am ignorant that would make the idea impracticable, in which case I'm sure you will have no difficulty in finding a place for the money. But I am equally confident that you will allow my suggestions to influence you—n’est ce pâs?

This morning at Sgt. Murphy's suggestion, I made a trip to the General Hospital (via ambulance) to see how a couple of our boys are coming along, and to take his pay to one of them. It took us about fifty minutes each way. I wish, Ev, that you could see for yourself the completeness of the facilities that are embodied in these hospitals for our Yanks. The care and treatment the G.I.’s get here is of the very best, and in contemplating the vastness of grounds and buildings and personnel, one cannot help but feel proud of the munificence and far-sightedness of the Americans. The two fellows I went to see are doing nicely and we expect to see them back with us soon. I was there from 11 A.M. ’til 4 P.M. when we started back. When I got back to my hut, it was a little before 5 o'clock—and the first things that caught my eye were two letters lying on my bunk. They proved to be your long “longie” of the 6th, and your V-mail of the 9th. You can be sure I wasted no time reading them. It is too late now to think of answering them, but I will do so tomorrow.

It's just 11 o'clock, Baby, and I'll give you just one guess as to where and what my thoughts are at this instant—Aw—somebody must have told you!

I'll say my usual “good-night my darling” with the sure knowledge that no matter how I say it, or regardless of flourishes or embellishments, the simple and unalterable fact is—I adore you. A great big hug and kiss for my very own daughter, the inimitable and precocious punkin. My love to all.

Ever

Your Phil

May 18, 1944

My Beloved, 

Your letter of May 13 arrived this morning and it was beautifully written. In it you express my feelings to a "T", though I doubt if I would be capable of expressing myself so ably. 

As I write this I interrupt every so often to gaze once again upon the two colored pictures of myself and Adele. Yes, sweet, I got them this afternoon and they are lovely; both of them. I bought a natural color imitation leather frame (double) for 75¢. The other two pictures of Adele didn't turn out so well, as you will note when you receive them. I am going to hold on to the pictures til Monday, at which time I shall mail them off along with a package of candy. I can't get over how well my picture turned out. Did you know, sweet, that I have à suggestion of a clef in my chin? I don't think my smile is natural enough, but it will have to do. I wish, very much, that he had fixed the collar of my blouse - it annoys me.

I’d like to write a little about Adele this evening. She calls soup "up" and says the first letter of every word; for instance: Please would be "pa", dear is "dah i.e. and she now says daddy and mommy. She's learning the “ee" sound. She always fights with Betty and "dodo". When she hears their voices or sees them she goes "ah" (in short, forced breath) (sort of gives them an argument, if’n you know what I mean). She had begun a practice of wetting (not to mention the other) her panties, which practice displeased me no end. She got a real good licking for it yesterday. She also used the word "sis" to be picked up, etc. and made a regular joke of it. After yesterday's licking she changed her mind and decided it was easier to be a good girl. Once, she said sis and hurriedly followed it up with "naw, naw, naw!" When she yells sis I immediately ask her if she has to go. When she nods her head I dash her to the pot or the toddy, whatever the case may be. If I chance to be talking to someone else about her she listens intently and knows exactly what I am saying. Phil, you'll find it hard to believe, but our kid understands everything. She knows how to pull tricks and tries to get away with everything. Whenever I'm mad she looks at me from the corner of her eyes and throws me that wistful look (Aw, mommy - you know!) She looks at the toaster in the morning and points to our reflections. She knows the owner of each piece of belonging around here. The other day I slipped Goldie's (Thought I'd bring it over) apron on and she kept yelling, "dodo", "dodo"! In the morning, after she wakes me up, she puts the palm of her hand to her head and says, "momma, ah aah aah a!" (meaning that she wants to lie down, beside me in our bed.) (Same thing happens before she goes to bed in the evening). When she is shocked she puts the palm of her hand to her chest, draws her breath in and says a long drawn out "u-ah"! 

The bookkeeper in my father's place is quitting (She gets $41 per) and he would like to know if I'm interested. I don't rightly know. I'm fairly sure I’d make a good bookkeeper and it does pay high wages. Only time will tell. Mass Hahn also asked me if I’d like to work for her steady as her other girl is leaving for camp and she needs someone daily. I declined her offer, preferring to make a good salary if I return to work. I'm working for her tomorrow for she is without help at present.

I did quite a bit of work today. I house-cleaned, our room. I washed the windows, blinds, wood-work, floor. I dusted, swept the rug, moved the furniture and camphored away most of the woolens. I washed silk things and my mother (who happened to be washing at the time) washed the bulk of my clothes (there was a yardful) in the washing machine. I dusted and swept the rugs downstairs, washed the steps and so forth. When Adele woke from her nap I walked up to C.P. with her to pick up the pictures. When I got back I took down my clothes and gave her dinner. That just about brings me up-to-date.

I might add that Ruth and I had only an hour in town last night, which gave us very little time to accomplish anything. The red play shoes I bought are ration-free, made of all sorts of composition and I doubt if they will last the summer. I've been thinking of buying ankle-strap shoes for dress, but I don’t want to buy them unless you like them cause I'd buy a good pair, a pair that would have to last through two or three seasons. I like them very much, though I doubt whether they are good for my feet. I'm on my feet much too much and my feet might spread from lack of support. Of course they'd only be for dress, but even then I feel the need of more support these days. First I'm going to get, a pair of sport shoes, most likely brown, that I can wear all year round. I’ll try to have a snap made of me in the red shoes, for your approval. 

 

Tomorrow night we're going to have company. Anne and Sammy, Freda and Morris and Gloria are going to stop over enroute to Washington. Gloria, Freda and Morris will spend Friday night here, while Sam, Anne and the baby will stay at Lizzie’s. They'll go to Washington Saturday morning.  

I'll have to throw out mom's bouquet tomorrow as it too is dead. Hers outlasted mine three days. 

(NOTE: My dad corrected me. The secretary, not the bookkeeper is quitting. She was receiving $28. Thought it sounded too good to be true. Oh weli! - ) 

Gosh, honey, I'm in the mood for cuddling up close to you and makin’ love! Yep, perhaps we’d better meet in bed, instead of on the easy chair (it's not so "easy" that way - is it?),(Ba a d girl - ain't I?) (Full of questions this evening). (May is fast departing and it's just a matter of days before the (latest Strongin puts in an appearance.) Gee but it, would be swell to have you in bed with me! Just 

think - every time Adele woke us up we’d "tear off a coupon" (remember that one?) (I can't help wondering if you'd "wake" at all). Don't worry, sweet, I'd get you "up” some way or other - didn't I always? At this point I'm practically sleeping on the typewriter, so I know, sweetness, that you'll forgive me if I sign off with oceans of love from 

 

Your Eve

18 May 1944

Ev, darling,

Having very little else to do this morning, I thought I would use the time to good advantage by answering those letters I mentioned yesterday. (Hope I don't get stuck on a single controversial paragraph of yours as I've been doing too often here of late.)

Your “twelve-pager” of 6 May was just crammed full of “small talk,” but it is just as welcome as anything else you might choose to write.

Wish I could see the way your hair looks now that you have discovered what I always contended, that leaving it “unset” after washing, and by patient combing and brushing, it would assume the desired effect. I have no objections to your going to the beauty parlor, Sweet, but if you shorten your hair by even so much as an inch, I'll give you the same dose you hand down to Adele when she’s bad—so help me! Why don't you just let the gal at the beauty parlor cut your hair to even the ends, and give it the same treatment that brought such satisfactory results. As for that “feather-bob” business—it's silly to even consider it. Anybody, who knows what he's talking about, will tell you that you are not the type that would look well with your hair set in that fashion. Neither, for that matter, is Goldie. Gloria, on the other hand, might just possibly be benefited by such a hairdo, since she is round of face and small of stature. But enough of this—.

The pictures you ordered of C.P. (Clair Pruett) are entirely satisfactory, Baby, and I look most eagerly to their arrival. Hope you think to enclose those you are sending me in a double frame!

I didn't mention my “finances,” as you so flatteringly refer to my few pounds, on the 1st of May for the simple reason that they were in a state of flux, and I had no way of knowing the outcome. For that matter, my “finances” are as changeable as the weather (which is a singularly apt simile, if you consider that it's English weather.) Just to illustrate: On the 1st May, I was £4 in debt. By the evening of the 2nd I had cleared my debt and was £4 in the clear. Since then I have had anywhere from 0 to £7 in my wallet. At the moment, I am £4 to the good, but if I play cards tonight and run into some bad luck, I'm likely to be broke by tomorrow morning. This constant fluctuation of my “finances” was the reason for my making that allotment for a bond each month. Whatever happens, I will at least have saved that. When you consider that that 18.75 is about 40% of my total pay each month, you mustn't be too critical of how I choose to dispose of the remainder.

To satisfy your curiosity about prices at the Snack Bar: Sandwiches, (Peanut Butter, cheese, jam, spam)—2£, (3-1/2¢)—coffee, tea, cake—3£ (5¢). Sometimes, as last night, everything is “on the house” and one can stuff himself to his belly's capacity for a total cost of—0.

Glad you take the long-range, or pessimistic view of the eventual state of our re-union, Chippie—it's much easier on the patience that way. Don't ask me again what or how I feel about it. So many factors have to be considered that it could be two or three years just as easily as that many months. The “duration” depends largely on whether or not Japan will continue to fight once Germany is beaten. Then, we don't know whether or not we will be called on to fight in that theater, once the European phase is over. Beside all this, we have no inkling of how long demobilization will take, nor on what basis it will be carried out. So—while I have pretty definite ideas on how much longer we will be at war, I'm just as uncertain as to the time it will take before I will be free to return to you—once and for all. However long the prospect seems, darling, keep in mind that there isn't a thing that we, as individuals, can do to shorten it. Therefore, it would be folly for us to start “chafing at the bit” at this stage of the game. Keep a calm and patient frame of mind, Chippie, and try to stop thinking and wondering at the length of the “duration.” Do not take it from this that my outlook and attitude is undergoing any radical change—it hasn't—it's just that I simply refuse to be discouraged, however obscure our chances for early reunion may appear.

That lemon yellow number that you described sounds like a real cutie. Wear it well, Chippie.

Your description of Adele's reaction to the tissue-paper she found in the dress store was most amusing. But how come? Don’t tell me she has already learned to look after herself to that extent?? Her liking for the bath and the talcum, and the fact that she readily obeys your commands when they are pleasing to her (such as bending over to be powdered), and rebels when told to do something not to her liking (going upstairs to bed), proves that she is not only willful, but intelligent enough to know and indicate her likes and dislikes and that she is every inch the woman (if’n you know what I mean—). The acumen she is displaying in a hundred different ways these days, speaks very well for her development. I'm very proud of her, darling and equally proud of the wonderful job you are doing in raising her. Unlike you, I don't feel that my paternal influence would have helped her to any great extent. What my absence has meant to both of us, of course, is another matter, but I really don't think Adele's lack of daddy's attention has retarded her favorable development in any way. Nothing in your V-mail of the 8th requires any comment. Most of it is devoted to Adele's latest activities, and consequently makes most edifying reading.

In your V-mail of the 9th, you indicate that you are well-pleased with the plans of the house I sent you. If you would prefer, as you indicate, that I say I will build it for you someday, then O.K. I'll say it. However, I should think you would be more concerned with my earnest intentions rather than the way I “sound.” I hate to make promises that I have no way of telling I will be able to keep. It is pointless, I think, for you to pin me down to “I will,” but if you prefer a pointless phrase to a sincerely stated intent to “try,” well—you've had it—and I do mean you've had it!

Your naive opinion that Harry's new job is “war-work” (even indirect) doesn't in any way alter the fact that Harry is for Harry—and to hell with the war. I'm sure, if he had any conscience on this score, he could find any number of jobs that would lend immeasurably more aid to the war effort and more credit to himself than accrues to him in his present task of delivering bread to civilians. If he had any regard for the war effort, he wouldn't have thrown up his job at the Signal Corps. Why he can't get an equally remunerative job in a defense plant, is beyond me. Surely, there's still plenty of demand for 4F’s with his qualifications. You would have a tough time, Chippie, trying to justify his outlook and actions in my eyes, so don't try it.

This brings me to the end of this particular letter, Sweet, and since it is time to go to lunch, I'll take my leave after I say once again that I love you. Best love to the punkin—long may she wave—and all the folks.

More than ever—

Your Phil