A New Year

1943

—A NEW YEAR—

Sunday, January 10, 1943

My first entry for the New Year and my first entry in almost a month. So much has happened in that month I hardly know where to start. I must do better in making entries in this book. It makes it damned difficult to try to catch up on an entire month especially a month like this one.

I write this from the new Finance Office located in the North African town of Tlemcen in Algeria.

We pulled out of Marlberry Hall on the 22nd of December. I’d spent a couple of real enjoyable nights in Northwhich with George Roley and “J.J.” Knurr. When we left the Hall we were trucked into Northwhich and there boarded the train. We had a pretty fair idea we were bound for Liverpool. And it was. We pulled in there at 4 p.m. and detrained. We rode halfway through the city, by trolley, to the docks.

Liverpool certainly took an awful licking from “Jerry.” The docks were teeming with activity as we boarded the “Empress of Australia” which was formerly the Kaiser’s own boat but now in the Canadian Pacific service. We were assigned our quarters and they were miserable. We pulled out of Liverpool the next day (the 23rd). We naturally expected we were on our way. Instead we lay in the river for two days. That put me in the river outside Liverpool on Christmas Day 1942. We had a turkey dinner on Christmas and considering the conditions it was pretty good. 

There were close to 4,000 men on board. The Finance Section was on D Deck with, it seemed like a million others. We were terribly crowded. We slept in hammocks which we slung each night. There were 12 men to a table and each day two men were selected to go to one of the many kitchens for that day’s chow. The food was much better than what I’d had on the “Aquitania.” To the relief of all, we started moving out to sea late Christmas morning. We were just fed up sitting in the middle of the river getting nowhere. Christmas night there was a show on board, talent supplied by the men plus the 185th Artillery Band. After the show, the Chaplain led us in singing Christmas carols. I got all choked up and went out on deck. I stood at the rail and did a lot of thinking. 

So the days passed — all pretty much the same. We had movies on the boat. They were about 1935 pictures. There was a lot of talent on the boat so we were kept pretty much entertained. I read Leo Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” which is a little better than 1,400 pages.

Shortly after we left Liverpool, heading north around the tip of Ireland, the weather got pretty dirty and there was a great deal of sea-sickness on board. Fortunately, I wasn’t bothered by it.

Thursday, December 31, or New Year’s Eve, we had another show. It was very good. I only wished they hadn’t played “Auld Lang Syne.” By this time it was much warmer as we were somewhere off the southern tip of Spain. We passed through the Straights of Gibraltar on the night of the 1st. All the next day we plodded along through the “blue Mediterranean” or “Mare Nostrum” as Mussolini calls it. We were going at a much reduced speed. 

On the night of the 2nd, while I was sitting down at our table reading, there was a terrific crash and the boat rocked back and forth. Shortly thereafter it begin to list to the port side. It developed that we had been rammed by another boat in our convoy. It had torn a hole in our starboard side from C deck to F deck. All the heavy cargo had been moved to the port side so the starboard side would be raised. A couple of men suffered slightly.

On the morning of the 3rd we woke up to find ourselves in the harbor of Oran. It was a beautiful sight to view the city from the harbor with the sun gleaming on the white buildings rising from the waters of the Mediterranean. 

French and English tug boats bustled around us as we prepared to unload. We unloaded at 3:30 p.m., bags, baggage and all equipment. My barracks bag must have weighed a ton. We marched, or staggered, from the pier to a point about 2 miles from the dock to where the trucks awaited us. The town at this point was strictly native and quite sordid. We loaded into the trucks and drove back roads through Oran to a point 16 kilometres outside the city. Here was a bivouac area which was serving as a temporary base for the 34th Division. Here we met the advance detail which had proceeded us. Among them from the Finance advanced detail were Al Schrader and Roger Ward. It was some reunion.

We set up our shelter-halves and settled down as best we could. The area on which we were camped had been the scene of quite a battle between the French and American troops just a short while before. Some of the boys I knew had been in it. “Doc” Fran was buried on the hill just a mile from my tent. It made me feel queer.

We were very far behind in our payrolls as we hadn’t worked on the boat and for several days before we left England. So Col. Barrois was trying to find us a place to set up the office. The first couple of days we did no work. The third day we worked awhile outside the A.G. tent. On the 4th day, the Col. managed to get an office in Oran so we rode in by truck, set up the office and worked on the rolls. I was more or less serving an apprenticeship and learning what it was all about. We ate lunch and supper in town and worked ’til 10 p.m. We did this for three days. 

The city of Oran is the most beautiful city I have ever seen — that is the European section of it. All the architecture and buildings are designed with an eye toward beauty. The streets are lined with carefully pruned trees, like the boulevards of Paris. Modernistic buildings of pastel shades rise up along the bay front. French Colonial troops with their vividly coloured uniforms contrast with the sheeted Arabs and Muslim women who never show their faces. Mosques and churches of marble and coloured stone add to the scene. I’d love to have stayed there. 

We now deal in French Francs. A Franc is worth $.01 1/3 or 75 Francs to the dollar. You can buy a bottle of wine for 20-30 Francs and huge naval oranges for 3 Francs. Food is fairly plentiful and a meal of three courses with a couple of bottles of wine costs you 60 Francs. 

I went over and saw the boys in “F” Company. They were located about 1/4 from us. I picked up about 15 letters. 

On the 9th of January were ordered to pack at 2 a.m. We moved out at 4 a.m. We loaded into trucks and moved to a railroad junction and loaded into trains at 8 a.m. Al Schrader had four bottles of “vino” so we had us a time.

We rode all day and arrived here at this town of Tlemcen at 7 p.m. We now occupy an abandoned French artillery camp. It was formerly the camp of the 68th F.A. French Colonial Army. It is a regular fort being entirely walled. We are now sleeping in the now empty stables. Fortunately I brought along a mattress cover and I filled it with hay so I have a mattress. It’s quite cold down here especially at night. We’re working night and day and will continue to ’til we finish December pay rolls. Then it will be time for the January payrolls. Time’s a’wastin’!

The Day That Changed My Life

September 30, 1941

This was the day that changed my life. For on this day, I was inducted into the Army.

I have since tried to analyze my position and my thoughts prior to and on the eve of my departure. The draft and the Army was something I read about in the papers. It was a patriotic service that we were all to render and it was only to take a year of our lives. It was almost an exciting prospect. However, of all the branches of the services, the Army was the one I least wanted to be in, but the other braches were those in which a person had to enlist for several years and I didn’t want that. In a moment of weakness, though I made application as a Cadet in the Naval Air Corp. but was turned down because of a heart murmur. I was almost glad cause 5 years was too long (how wrong I was). 

So on the 29^th of September we had a farewell dinner at the house. The family, some friends and my girl were present. Although not being too anxious to go I had no trepidation about the future. Fresh from college I had my whole life before me and a year wouldn’t hurt me. Leaving home didn’t bother me but leaving Jane did. To be honest though it didn’t bother me much. We had been going “steady” for over a year and I did love her but what the separation would mean to both of us hadn’t registered on me.

So on the 30^th I left. We went by train to Ft. Dix which was the reception center for New Jersey selectees. I was appointed leader of the Hackensack contingent. My first impression of the Army was a very poor one and since then I’ve changed my opinion only slightly. I was placed in Co. “I” in Tent City, the worst part of the camp. I was almost sick with my first Army meal. Seating cooks and smelly mess hall and the food tossed into mess kits all want to make up a very unpleasant meal. Generally, I walked in one door, had my mess gear filled and walked on out the other door emptying my kit as I went.

Everything was so different from wheat I had known. There was no gradual change from civilian life to Army life as the magazine articles said. It was like being bodily thrown into a different world. I had never known what such a life was like. 

Then it happened. Without any warning I became so unbearably homesick that I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand it. There I was only 70 miles from home and so homesick I didn’t know what I was doing. It was a feeling I couldn’t escape. My love for Jane welled up in me like I had never known anything could. 

I suffered thus for ten days and then came the announcement that the major part of the new selectees would be sent south for their 13 weeks basic training. I phoned Jane and told her the news.

We left Ft. Dix on Oct. 11, 1941, southward bound for Camp Croft, S.C. About 500 selectees left on that shipment. Austin Whitely was among them. We went down in Tourist Pullman and arried at Croft the afternoon of the 12^th.

Our first view of Croft was one of clean white barracks, pine forests and clean, pure air. It is a beautiful camp. A huge convoy of trucks was waiting to take us to our respective training battalions. Where I was destined to go, I had no idea. So up into the trucks and away. The trucks would up through long rows of clean, white, spacious looking tow-story barracks. Finally they came to a half and we piled out and stood quietly waiting for what came next. A roll was called and the men stepped forward into lines and marched off. My fate was decided finally. I was destined for the 28^th Training Battalion which was an anti-tank battalion. And there I stayed for 10 weeks.

Of those 10 weeks there is little to say. It was just train, train, train, train all the time. My homesickness and love for Jane became more and more acute. I had hoped that as the time went by that sharp pain would dull itself. It became sharper. My letters to Jane became more and more and more endearing. Hers were the same, filled with love and a good mixture of tears. We wrote every day. Gradually our letters contained nothing but thoughts of love and marriage.

And so it went for weeks as the Army trained us to become soldiers. Austin Whitely and Dick Mauriello were in the same battalion and were three paled together all the time. Austin and I spent our first couple of Sunday in Spartonburg going to church (also looking for invitations to Sunday dinner).

Here in the first few weeks of training  met for the first time the old Amry standby known as the “latrine rumor.” The latrine rumor has never been defined but it is an ever present quantity in army life. When someone comes in and says, “Have you heard the latest?” and then proceeds to tell you that a friend of his whose cousin knows a guy whose brother works at Regimental H.Q. said such and such ___! That’s a latrine rumor. They say that every time a person goes to the latrine a rumor is born.

So September and then October passed as we trained. We were taught military courtesy and discipline til it came out of our ears. We went out on the range and for the first time I fired an Army rifle. We trained on the 37 mm. antitank guns and fired them. I became official score-keeper on the range and the Lieutenant’s right-hand man. One night I was approached by the First Sergeant and asked if I would like to stay on there at Croft as a non-comm after our training was over. I told him yes and thought “well my troubles are over.” There was unlimited possibilities as a non-comm in a training center.

One day I received a letter from a Mr. Pratt of Greenville. She and Aunt Edith were very good friends and Aunt Edith had written her telling her I was at Croft. Her letter invited me to come over and visit them for the weekend. I jumped at the chance. It turned out that I spent six weekends with them. They are the grandest people I’ve ever met. Those weekends gave me and insight into what civilian life was again. It was certainly a welcome respite.

In the middle of November latrine rumor reared its ugly head. The rumor persisted that the 28^th Btn was to be used as a replacement center for the then-empty 26^th Btn which was a headquarters training btn. Sure enough, came the day when a selected number of men, myself included, were sent down to the 26^th to take aptitude tests. We took a Morse code aptitude test and then returned to the 28^th. I had no desire to be transferred as I had a perfect set up where I was and I felt confident that the transfers would not affect me.

Days passed and then weeks and nothing happened. Finally I forgot about the transfer. November passed and December came and thoughts of Christmas furloughs drove all other thoughts from my mind.

Sunday, December 7 dawned clear and bright. It was just like any other Sunday in an Army camp. But oh, how different! The day before I’d hitchhiked from Spartanburg to Greenville to spend the weekend with the Pratts. Billy Pratt and I went to the movies that night. The next day we took a trip up into the mountains to visit his old school and see some of his friends. It was while we were sitting around the fire of their club room listening to phonograph recordings that one of the boys burst into the room excitedly and cried, “The Japs have bombed Pearl Harbor!” A very loud silence greeted this outburst. It was impossible! Unheard of! But true!

We listened to the radio all that afternoon trying to get the latest reports from Hawaii. All was confusion. Only one fact seemed to stand out clearly – so clearly. The catastrophe had finally come. The thing which we had all secretly dreaded, for which we were all in the army, for which millions of dollars had been spent in preparation for – it was here.

When I returned to camp that night there was little outward change. No feverish preparation for immediate battle as I half expected (in my ignorance) there to be. It was received by the men in a serious light. Little knots of men gathered in quiet, sometime heated discussion. The patriotism smouldering in all of us burst into flame – a steady, consuming flame. Those “little yellow bastards” would get theirs.

We listened to Congress as it declared war on Japan the next day. The declaration on Germany and Italy followed shortly afterwards. As I listened to the “fight talks” of the various Congressmen I found myself becoming aroused to a fever pitch of patriotism. My letters to Jane and Mother conveyed this feeling. Gradually it died away and the realization of what had happened became increasingly apparent. My “year in the Army” hopes were shattered. Now it was a matter of years.

A few days afterwards orders came through that the transfers to the 26^th btn were to go into effect. My name was on the list. I was astounded I went to see the First Sgt. to see what it was all about. He told me that there was nothing he could do. Even the Catain had tried to get my transfer cancelled but the orders had come down from Reg. HQ and he was helpless. Larry Wode was in the same fix. And so began the first of a series of tough breaks. 

We moved, bag and baggage, to the 26th Btn. Austin W. Wasn’t transferred but Dick M. was Dick was sent to the 27th as a truck driver. Larry W. and myself ended up in Co. B. which was the radio company.

So our previous training on the 37 mm guns was all thrown out the window and a new schedule begun. We were to learn the International Morse Code and that meant hours in teh code room, sitting with earphones on, while they pounded out hte code to us. Talk about monotony. We got so that after a while we called the code room the “Chamber of Horrors.” The continual noise of dots and dashes was particularly hard on the nerves. I saw men become violently sick to their stomach after three or four hours of it.

Meanwhile Christmas drew nearer and nearer. With the war all hopes of Christmas furloughs were smashed. And I just had to see Jane and the folks. I wrote and asked if they couldn’t come down for a few days. Mother wrote back and said they not only could but definitely would. The torment of waiting became acute.

On Wednesday Dec. 24 the suspense was ended. I was to meet them, sometimes in the late afternoon, at the Service Club. Dick and I were up there a 3 p.m. and while I paced the floor he calmly sat there drinking beer. After my 69th trip to the door I saw our green Buick come up hte drive.And there they all were. I took Jane in my arms and the world suddenly became swell again. Nana, Cookie, Mother, Dad and Jane just stood there beaming. It was a grand reunion. 

Through the hostess of the Service Club I’d managed to get some rooms in a private home in Spartansburg. We all piled into the car and drove down there. After a dinner at the Hotel Cleveland we returned to the house. Then Jane and I went out alone to meet Howie Simmons and Al Schrader at one of the “better joints.” We stayed with them for a while (Howie was hopelessly pie-eye) and then left. We drove down a country road and then parked. Time stood still ---.

The next day, Christmas Day, we started for Greenville to see the Pratts who insisted that I bring the folks over. We spent a pleasant day there and had Christmas dinner at the Hotel Poinsett. I have never known Jane to be more desirable to me as she was on that Christmas Day. I loved her so it hurt. I gave her the vanity case I had bought with Mrs. Pratt’s help. The next day, Friday, I was on duty again and somehow got thru the day. Dad picked me up at the Service Club and we all went out to dinner again. Then Dad told me they were leaving for home the next day. I had thought they were going to stay the weekend and was disappointed. After dinner we returned to the house and Jane and I went went off again. We sat in the car and talked of our future. One point we were both certain of -- we were very much in love and wanted to be married, as soon as possible. So we decided to tell the folks then. Back we drove each thinking his own thoughts and just alittle frightened of what we proposed doing. We stood before Mother and Dad and I said, “Jane and I want to be ...” and then I stopped and started again, “Jane and I are going to be married!”

After the first shock of surprise the folks were wonderful. They did think we should wait until the war was over but we stood firm on that point. We were going to be married as soon as possible. And so Mother and Dad promised to do everything possible to help us.

That night they brought me back to camp. They were leaving early the next morning. It was a sad yet not such a sad parting because we knew it wouldn’t be for long. We had both agreed that we weren’t going to be formally engaged but that some weekend in the very near future Jane would slip down and we would be married. So, it was as rather a shock to me when Jane wrote and said that her Mother wanted her to be engaged and that she had consented. I was angry and wrote a lot of things I didn’t mean. Jane answered and said she’d call the engagement off if I wanted her to. But for the general peace I finally consented.

On New Years Day we were engaged. She in Hackensack - me in S.C. They announced it at a cocktail party at the Haights. I had a particularly dirty detail that day. While our friends toasted us in Hackensack I was collecting garbage at Camp Croft.  A nice beginning!

The first couple of weeks in January dragged by. Jane and I decided we would wait to see where I was shipped at the end of the month. I phoned every Saturday night. I was beginning then to get ideas of going into the Army Air Corp. I had my papers sent down but then I decided I’d wait till I found out where I was going. Being specialists we were supposed to have grand opportunities awaiting us, when we joined our permanent units. At this time my mind was more on Jane and getting married, then it was in my Army career.

On the 29th of January we left Camp Croft bound for Ft. Dix. We could hardly believe it. Back home again. The only shadow was the knowledge that Dix was an embarkation point but we didn’t care then. We were going home.

Larry Wade and I shared the same bunk on the train and the same enthusiasm. 

We arrived at Dix on the 30th. It’s hard to describe the confusion that resulted on our arrival. It seemed that we weren’t even expected. No provision had been made for us. There we stood, about 700 of us, while the officers gave orders that were constantly being countermanded. Finally it ended up by us being designated to barracks in which there happened to be empty bunks. Thus we were mixed up and sandwiched in among a National Guard regiment. There was no orderly method used nor any logical reason for it. And, that is how some 700 specialists who had undergone many weeks of intensive training ended up in a National Guard infantry regiment as riflemen.

I’m talking to our “new buddies” it appeared that this outfit was about ready to move out. We were scared. We hadn’t come all the way up to Dix for this. I called Jane that night. She almost cried for joy to think I was so near. I wanted to take off that night but could find no one to go with me.

The next day we lay around the barracks. We did nothing. We were all bewildered at this new turn of events. In the afternoon as I lay on my cot Howie Simmons came overand said, “Let’s go home.” I was out of my bunk in a flash, for that was the thing uppermost in my mind. We sneaked out of camp, past the guards, to Pointsville. I had the keys to a car owned by one of the boys who had gone home the night before. It was a ’37 Chrysler and what a mess it was. It took 20 gallons of gas to go round trip of 125 miles.

What a reunion that was! I walked into the Haight house just as they were eating dinner. Jane never finished eating. 

We went to my house later and shortly after I left for camp again.

We were caught by the CQ and our named turned in. The next day we were ordered to report to the CO He gave us detail.

We watched the boys leave on weekend passes. It hurt bad.

Jane, Russ and Nisey came down that Sunday and I was taken off detail.We drove to Trenton and spent the day. We laid plans to be married the following Satuday. All was in readiness.

Somehow I got through the next week. On Friday the 13th Andy and Russ came down and we went on a last stag party together. We al got drunk.

The next day Dad drove down and picked me up at Noon. We drove back to Hackensack and against all tradition I went down to see the bride-to-be.

I bathed and got into a clean uniform while Andy fed me the most potent Manhattans.

We were married at 3:30 by Mr. Morse. All was formality and yet beautiful. Everyone in tails and formal gowns. The church was packed. Jane looked beautiful in her grandmother’s wedding dress. I was very proud as Mr. Morse pronounced us man and wife. 

The reception was held at Latchstring in Oradell. I  could hardly wait till it was over. Finally we left.

Dad, as my best man, had made reservations for us at the Hotel Barclay in New York. They were fine rooms. Andy, Grace, Russ, Niecy, Howie and Alice came up later to have a drink with us.

Then we went to bed and made each other’s forever.

The next day, Sunday, we got up at about 10:30, had breakfast, and went to the early show at Radio Music Hall. In the afternoon, we drove to Trenton and got a room at the Stacy Trent Hotel.

We got up early Monday morning and Jane drove me back to camp in time for reveille. All that week Jane stayed in Trenton, picking me up right after retreat and bringing me back for reveille. It was a wonderful week for us both.

And so the time passed. It became just a matter of waiting for weekends to come around.

February, March and part of April passed. There were rumours and counter-rumors about our moving out but most of them were without foundation. Then there were rumours that our unti would never go overseas.

But, toward the middle of April, one rumor grew and persisted to grow that we were going to move out. We all imagined that this rumor was like the rest but on the 19th of April we had a practice alert.

From then on it was pretty well cut and dried. They alerted us to death. On the 24th the camp was closed to all civilian traffic. The time was drawing near and we knew it. I wasn’t able to get a pass over the weekend so Jane came down on Saturday afternoon. We went to Trenton that night. She knew I was leaving and was wonderful about it all. Sunday, I called Dad and Told him he’d better come down. The whole family came down Monday night. The regimental chapel had been set aside for the use of visiting families. Russ and Andy were along. It was rather a stilted last meeting. As they left Dad said they’d all be down again on Wednesday. We moved out Wednesday the 29th. All the phones in the camp had been disconnected so I could not call Jane. I didn’t know what to do. I finally stopped a Coca-Cola truck and asked the driver if he’d call for me to tell her not to come down and to say goodbye. 

We were loaded into trucks and driven to the train (the same train that brought me into the army). On the train going to Hoboken I wrote Jane a letter and threw it out the window to some workmen. We arrived at Hoboken at about 6:30 p.m. When we left the train we were marched down and boarded a ferry boat. The ferry boat pulled out and started up steam. At 57th we pulled in on the New York side. Awaiting us there was the grand old girl “Acqitania.” We boarded her at 9 p.m. and were assigned quarters. I was so tired I went to bed immediately. When I awoke, we were at sea.

And so 7,000 men left behind them their homes, their people and everything they loved.

“J” Company was very lucky in the quarters they had. We were on “C” deck in Staterooms. Nine men to the small staterooms. Canvas stretched over wooden frames were our beds. We even had hot running water and a bath. The food was simply terrible. I have never eaten worse. It sickened me to go into the mess hall.

On the way over we had several submarine scares. Our convoy was a huge one and very well protected. Several times during the crossing, I saw the destroyers wheel about and charge at a particular point. Then a little later I’d hear the sound of depth charges. Outside of that though it was a very smooth crossing. The weather was perfect. On the 12 of April we sighted land. Ireland — the Emerald Isle! On the 13th we made our way up the River Clyde and anchored at a small town a few miles distance from Glasgow, Scotland. There we disembarked and reembarked on a small passenger vessel. All night we chugged along and on the morning of the 14th arrived at Londonderry in Northern Ireland. Once more we disembarked — this time for good.

We were immediately piled into British Army buses and moved out of town. We were all agog over the sights and were in good spirits, just to be on land once again.

We drove all morning and finally arrived at the small town of Ballycastle on the northern tip of Ireland, at about 3 p.m. We were assigned to British Army billets just outside of town. We slept on wooden pallets on straw mattresses. Miserable! It was terribly cold and damp. It never grew dark until 11 p.m. at night.

We remained in this town for 2 1/2 week sand then moved on. We travelled again by British Army bus. We spent one night at a camp just outside a small village called Castle Dawson. It was May the 30th. My birthday and Jane’s. I really got plastered that night. Beer, whiskey, run, wine and cognac!!!

The next day we moved on and into the town of Omagh. It was a fairly large town, as town go in Ireland. We found we were to be billeted here indefinitely and were glad to hear of it. The first and part of the second platoon were billeted right in the Omagh courthouse in the very center of town. It was a fine set up. There were three shows in town and 1,000 pubs! There was an A.T.S. (** A women’s branch of the British Army) camp in the town as well, so that took care of any female problems anyone might have. 

We settled down to the old training grind again. The same old story. Marches, drills, obstacle courses, bayonet courts, classes, etc. It was swell to be able to go out after hours, though, into a town. 

Then began a series of maneuvers. We had one particularly bad one of eight days in which it rained every single day. On one day, which I’ll never forget, we marched 42 miles in a continual downpour. I was close to mutiny that day. To describe a manoeuvre in Northern Ireland is impossible. The weather is so consistently miserable that it makes every day and night a perfect hell.

Rain, Rain, Rain

HERE BEGINS AN ACCURATE DATED ACCOUNT OF MY MOVEMENTS AND EXPERIENCES…

August 11, 1942

Out on maneuvers again and again its the same old thing. Hit the line early and route march to the I.P. and then off into the fields. We contact the enemy and then it’s belly up and belly down always advancing while we see the enemy withdrawing. “Hit that ground,” they yell, and you hit it hard invariably landing in a pool of water.

And then the rain. Is there no end to it? The sun is something we left behind at home, like those meals of Mother’s. Rain, rain, rain. We eat in it, we sleep in it and someday we will fight in it.

And then after hours of battling your way knee-deep through peat bogs, the day’s problem comes to an end and back we go to the bivouac. Back to wet tents and ankle-deep mud in the streets. Back to a weary ration detail or guard. I’m sick of it all. The life of a rifleman in the infantry is no picnic even on peaceful maneuvers.

A letter from Jane today. Poor kid, it’s so evident that she suffers, too. She, too, is waiting, hoping and praying for the end of it all. And when will it all end? Things look very black for us now. If Russia goes down I may not see home again for many, many years. And Russian is going down now. Already she’s beaten to her knees, calling for help. It’s a vain call. With 6 million men under arms Britain doesn’t hear the call, for Britain hears no call nor heeds no cry but that of Britain’s. 

And so to bed — to dream of Jane and home.

A Basic Private in the Infantry

August 12, 1942

Another day finished. The weather was better today. It only rained five or six times. The problem was easier for us because my company was in reserve all day. But when you haven’t much to do your mind works too hard. Mine seems to be working overtime continually. I wonder at my plight. Why am I a basic private in the infantry? All my friends have made something of themselves. All but me. Can there be something wrong with me? Did Dad spend several thousand dollars to put me through school for nothing? Does my B.S. degree mean nothing? At home I was at least something. Here I’m the lowest of the low. Why? I don’t think I’m dull or stupid. Some of us have talked about it, among ourselves. We know we’re in a bad spot. Thrown into a National Guard outfit in which everything is cut and dried. It’s useless to try to get ahead. you haven’t a chance. If you weren’t fortunate enough to have been born in a certain town in a certain state, you’re licked. 

Two letters from Jane today and one from Mother. My God, how I love and miss them. I answered Jane’s letter and must write Mother soon.

Just ducked out the back of the test ‘case they come around looking for a water detail. All well. 

To bed.

There Goes Another One Up The Ladder

Friday, August 14, 1942

Wonder of wonders it didn’t rain at all. That certainly does make a world of difference. Tomorrow we go out and don’t come back ’til Sunday morning when we’ll go back to Omagh. That will wind up this weeks of maneuvers, thank Heavens.

Received three “V” mail letters from Jane today and one from Mother. Jane’s letters certainly reflect the various moods she has. God, how I love her and do miss her. In her letter she mentioned that Fred Jordan is going to O.T.S. So there goes another one up the ladder and I still can’t reach the bottom rung.

Today I was the C.O.’s runner and he certainly did run me. He’s a lot easier to get along with since the made him a captain. (From the W.P.A. to a Captain in the U.S. Army).

It's Awful to be Handcuffed Like This

Sunday, August 16, 1942

Back into Omagh today. It’s good to be back. A week out in that morass is enough. After I got straightened out a little at the courthouse I went down and took a much-needed shower. Talk about filth. Came back and took a little nap and them went up to Gallaghers for a steak and chips dinner.

Received a letter from Jane today and one from Dad. Dad is really one great guy. It’s a great disappointment to him about my remaining a buck. And, I know exactly how he must feel. He’s always placed a great deal of confidence in me, with all his gruffness at times. That I should remain in the ranks while all my friends are going up is a source of much disappointment to him. And I know how those things hurt down deep because I’m hurting inside now.

I’m going to see Lt. Holt this week and see if he can give me any help. Any suggestion at all will help. It’s awful to be handcuffed like this.

Rumor has it that division may ask for volunteers to train as bombardiers for the Air Corp. I’d jump at such a chance, even though your chances of seeing home again are cut down immeasurably. It mightn’t be fair to Jane but anything is better than this and I’m sure she’d understand.

Jane’s letter was like all her others — loving and sweet. I answered hers tonight and will answer Dad’s tomorrow. 

So until then — off to bed.

Rumors of a Second Front

Wednesday, August 19, 1942

We are no longer stationed at Omagh. On the 17th, orders came though that 60 men from our company were to go on a guard detail. I was one of the 60. Where we were to guard, no one knew. We moved out under sealed orders. Everyone figured it would be either in Belfast or Lurgan, and packed all their best and finest, in preparation for a good time. Where did we end up? A million miles from nowhere, guarding a huge ammunition dump (about 20 miles from Omagh). We sleep in American built corrugated tin billets. They’re very comfortable. We’re on four hours and off eight. I pulled the 2-6 shift. It really isn’t that bad.

Today some more “F” Co. boys came in and told us that the rest of the company and in fact the whole 2nd Btn. was moving out of Omagh. We still don’t know where they’re going but believe it might be Enniskillin. We’ll only be guarding here a week or more and then we’ll rejoin the company. 

Rumors of a “2nd Front” having been open came to us today. However nothing official as yet.

I wrote Jane tonight but as yet haven’t answered Dad’s letter.