Letters To Home

Being in the hospital here is a new experience for me.  Just one more precedent for me since I’ve been overseas.  Since I’ve been in almost every other part of the base at one time or another, my stay here could hardly be considered complete if I did not spend a few weeks at this place.  And I must say this is one of the best parts of what must be one of the best camps in the ETO.

If I keep on raving like that much longer, you are going to think I’m pretty much sold on the base.  You wouldn’t be too far wrong, either.  I have spent 4/5 of my time in the Army here, you know; being something of a “homebody”, it has been a pleasure to settle down at this place, even if only temporarily.  And remember, it’s always “temporarily” in the service!

One of the nicest features of remaining at one place for some length of time is the friends one makes – some merely acquaintances, others who are real pals.  Fellows I know seem always to be stopping at the ward to say Hello.  One of my fellow patients is a boy I came overseas with.  The sergeant in charge of the ward is no stranger to me, for he is a regular visitor at the Presses’ place in Belfast.  The sergeant who assisted the doctor in my operation and several other guys who work here lived in my barrack for a time.  I have worked with the hospital’s chief clerk in preparing certain reports for our own statistical office.  When the radio speaker went on the blink, who came down to repair it?  My “buzzum” buddy Jack, who is still getting over that terrible fall he had through the mess hall roof some months ago.

In other words, I know my way around the place, and it is chock full of familiar faces.  Take that, plus mail from home, plus good food and living conditions, and one has the makings of contentment and high morale.  On the other hand, some guy’s parents have had some cause for concern.  Our family has been very fortunate.

Some of my friends are no longer in Ireland.  Some are in England, some on the continent.  John (the boy with whom I went on furlough and have played tennis, pinochle, etc.) has received letters from mutual friends of ours who are in France.

My boss was down to see me last Sunday.  A very nice young guy who reminds me sometimes of Albert Hansen.  He wanted to find out how things were coming and if he could do anything for me.

Have I ever mentioned George?  He was the youngest of the eight enlisted men in our department and the one who always took care of our boy Bennie when he got “high” (a job he disliked because he couldn’t get drunk himself).  I say “he was” because he is no longer with us.  He came to the hospital to say goodbye to me recently because he was being transferred to the Ground Forces, presumably the infantry as soon as he is trained.  According to our newspaper, the Stars and Stripes, each month is going to see the transfer of 10,000 Air and Service Force men to the infantry.  I wonder if this news has made it to the papers back home.  There’s a rumor going the rounds of Northern Ireland to the effect that there’s a war on!

[letterstohome copyright 2008]

There’s a popular song about soldiers that goes “You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won’t have it there any more!” As Gildersleeve’s pal Phoebe would say: “Well, now, I wouldn’t say that.” I didn’t have breakfast in bed before, but I have it there now. Also, dinner and supper. It isn’t that I’m lazy, you understand – the captain won’t have it any other way. I’ve suffered no ill effects from it so far.

Our food here is the best by far that I’ve eaten in the Army. And we can have all we want, within reason. Hospitals evidently get special rations for patients, as regards both quality and quantity. It is prepared very well, in relatively small quantities, of course, for Army cooking. Emphasis seems to be on fruits, vegetables, and really good meat. Yesterday morning we had pork sausage; at noon, ham; in the evening, turkey; today’s breakfast brought creamed chicken on toast (didn’t like that); for dinner, steak; and at supper, canned beef and other cold cuts. That is only slightly better than the average menu here. We have ice cream several times a week and there is usually a second dessert besides. It’s going to be hell eating that regular chow again! I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it takes me longer to recover than I first thought! (The doctor says I should eat a lot and try to gain some weight).

This is the first day that I’ve been allowed to sit up in bed a little. It didn’t feel so very good at first, but I’m getting used to it tonight. I guess that I’ll have to learn how to walk all over again!

Valentine’s Day is gone, but I haven’t yet had my say on that extremely swell greeting card I received from Bonnie. I showed it to Harvey and Doris and others, boasting of Bonnie’s ability to “pick ‘em out”, for they admired it greatly. Imagine my surprise when I learned that Mom had a hand in picking it out! I should have suspected as much. Thanks to Mom and Bonnie for a card which struck me just right.

Dad is the inventor of the family. On the basis of my own personal experience, I would venture to say that there is a market for an improved type of bedpan, one somewhat deeper than the present standard model! Have I got something there or not?

[letterstohome copyright 2008]

To make a long story short, I had an operation for a hernia (rupture) four days ago, and I am now in the hospital recovering from it.  We two boys have given Mom and Dad more surprises, haven’t we?

I wrote Mom and Dad a short letter telling them, but it was a mess. I had a hell of a time writing it in bed.  There are many things they will want to know, but they will have to wait until I am better able to write.  Having had operations, they should understand.  I did want to let them hear I was okay as soon after it was over as possible.  And I am getting along fine now.

The doctor seems will satisfied with the progress I’m making toward getting well again.  But it will take time.  I expect to be kept in bed for another ten days or so.  Then there will be a couple more weeks in the hospital after that.  The hernia operation requires a fair-sized incision, it seems.  Anyway, I had a very good surgeon and am getting the best care in every respect.

I’ll write and post as much as I can, but that may not be too often at first.  Hopefully, Mom and Dad will tell Cleon (alias “the San Francisco Kid”) why he isn’t hearing from me.  I hope my folks and Bonnie will take this thing as calmly as I have-and that’s clam enough for anyone!

[letterstohome copyright 2008]

Darned if I haven’t almost outdone myself lately in writing to my sister, Bonnie. Knowing how much she enjoys getting mail, I suddenly decided a while ago that this would be a convenient way to dispose of some of the “odds and ends of letter-writing ideas” that have been knocking about my brain—things that I wouldn’t want to bother the folks with, but which Bonnie might find of some slight interest. I have gotten rid of many of those odds and ends already, in the letters of the past several weeks; the remaining supply should be good for two or three more outbursts. And then she’ll have to start threatening me again for mail! (Since I’ve been beating these out purely for recreational purposes, I hope Bonnie doesn’t feel that she must necessarily answer them. She’s probably busy.)

Well, we’ve certainly been having a rousing time with the guy who bunks across from me. (His nickname is also “Mac”, a fact which causes no small amount of confusion in that end of the hut.) A couple of weeks ago he met a “Wren” (popular name for a British girl in the WRNS – Women’s Royal Navy Reserve, I believe it stands for) at a party and immediately went off the deep end! He’s been over here a little less than a year, and until just recently he didn’t like the country, the people, or anything else. And then came the dawn. He met this Wren and things are dandy. All of which is very amusing to me because I remember how many times I’ve told him off for making what I thought were unfair criticisms of Britain and the British.

We boys who have known Mac these many months can’t believe the change that has come over him. And he’s been out with this girl only a couple of times. Now he’s trying to sell everyone on Britain. He used to be awfully grouchy when he arose in the morning; you should see him these days, singing with the radio, whistling, laughing, telling jokes. And to think a little Wren could do all that! He’s got it bad and that ain’t good. We catch him smiling to himself during the course of the day; his boss caught him day-dreaming at the office and told him to get to work. Oh, what a razzing and ribbing that guy has been taking in the hut. It goes on until late at night. He spends all his spare time shining his shoes, polishing his buttons, and tidying up his clothes. I think he has been going around in such a “glow” lately that when I look over at him in his corner of the hut, it looks like the sun is coming up.

A fellow can go along for months over in this country, minding his own business and having nothing to do with (shall we say) the female population, and then, all of a sudden, lightning strikes! He’s off the beam, starts getting out into the social whirl. I’ve seen it happen a hundred times. But no matter how often it has happened in the past, each new “case” is a surprise. “He was the guy who was going to wait until he got home!”, we exclaim. It seems they get tired of waiting after a while. That is not to say that these “victims” of something or other don’t eventually get over it. They do. Most of them, that is. Others aren’t so lucky—they often get married. That’s carrying a joke too far. The moral of this is “Every dog-face has his day”.

[letterstohome copyright 2008]