Letters to Wilma will trace the path of a WWII Army doctor from training on Cape Cod, to landing D-Day plus 6 in Normandy, and concluding 1400 miles later in Leipzig, Germany. Greg's path included the Battle of the Bulge and the liberation of the slave labor camp at Nordhausen, with the 438th Anti-Aircraft Artillery Battalion. Wilma became his wife, and I their fourth child.
It’s not often I resort to V-mail but today was a busy one and involved many changes. I’m still busy, dear, but I had to take a few minutes off to write a few lines.
I don’t expect any mail today, darling, but I’m expecting a few recent ones any day now. Yesterday I finally sent out the box of knives, forks, ash-trays and miscellaneous items – so when you see a large box for you, don’t expect too much. Your mother will probably think I’m crazy for troubling to send stuff like that across the ocean – but then, dear – we have our sentiments.
Tomorrow I’ll write you a long letter, darling; I still have some things to discuss with you – from the big batch of letters the other day. For now, dear, so long – and
I’ve always appreciated the fact that you wrote me regularly but it hit me with a bang yesterday evening when the mail was distributed. I got 36 – count ‘em! 36 letters, darling and most of them were from you, believe it or not. There’s not a fellow here who has anyone write him more constantly – be it wife, girlfriend or fiancée. Before I forget it, dear, in one of your letters you seem almost surprised that I referred to you as my fiancée to one of the boys, here. I know we’re not officially engaged, but darling – when I think of you so often as my wife, fiancée actually seems awfully tame. I haven’t written that to anyone in the States because I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, dear. I wonder if we could get engaged by mail? I know the sort of ring I want you to have and I know my dad would help me get it. What do you think, darling, or do you just think I’m crazy? It’s really not as foolish as it may sound. I’d love nothing better. Let me know what you think.
Your letters, darling, go way back to November, even, but most are from the early days of December – up to around the 17th and 18th. It seems that a bunch of our mail was inadvertently shipped to Italy and had to be sent back here. It was most welcome, though, and believe me, dear, I spent a pleasant evening reading. My file is now almost complete. There are one or two gaps. I expect some more, too, because the last letter I had from you was written January 3.
One other thing that comes to my mind that you may think is foolish, namely – your mention of Stan, and his reference to his waning activities with Shirley, and his frequent talks with you. You know, darling, I’m an awfully jealous guy – and I just can’t help thinking about it. It seems to me he calls you an awful lot for a fellow who is supposed to be in love with another girl. I know you’ll excuse me, dear, for mentioning it – or I wouldn’t have said a word about it, but darling – I’m so far away and have so much time to think –
You are a real sweetheart in re-assuring me of your love for me, as you did in your letter of January 3rd. I believe you, darling, but like you – I like to be told. When you get a letter from me expressing doubt – blame it on the lonesomeness which sometimes just takes a hold of you and doesn’t let go. I love you and want you so much that I let my mind run away with itself at times. I just don’t want anything or anyone to ever come between us.
In reading your letters, day by day, as you approached graduation I got a marvelous running account of what you were thinking and doing. I hope to save as many of your letters as possible and some day we can re-read them. The problem is going to be one of space, though, because they’re mounting up. I have every one I’ve received since arriving here, dear. I also received your swell Christmas Card. It has an awfully sweet sentiment, dear, and I loved the few lines added as a footnote. Really, sweetheart, your faith in me, your repeated statements that you want to marry me, that you love no one but me – all that makes me so happy and confident that I can hardly contain myself. That I was so lucky to meet a girl like you is still incomprehensible to me – even granting that I’ve been rather a lucky fellow. I’ll keep loving you always, darling, for so many reasons that I can hardly enumerate them – but not the least of which is your sincerity and ability to give me hope and inspiration. When I get back and we’re married you will be what I’ve always wanted in a wife and I’ve wanted someone like you for so long a time, darling, that I know I will adequately appreciate you.
Dearest – there’s several other items you mentioned in your letters that I want to discuss with you, but I’ll have to leave it for now – because I have some work to do. I’ll write again tomorrow – but meanwhile – remember that I love you as deeply as I know how – and I always will, sweetheart.
I got back from London about an hour ago, changed clothes, washed and I’m now ready to write you, dear. I stopped at the mail office but there was no mail – which I couldn’t understand. However – a few minutes ago I was informed that they had just brought back 10 bags of mail and this must be the batch I’ve been waiting for. It better be, or I’ll be keenly disappointed. There was one letter for me – from Frank M. and his APO is 515 here in England. He hasn’t been here long. I’ll write him later. It will be nice if I can meet him on a pass. He says he was home for Christmas, the lucky stiff – so I may be able to get hold of some local news. So far he’s been following me wherever I’ve gone.
Well, darling, now about London. Having raced around on my first visit, I decided to just take it easy this time and relax. Pete couldn’t make it this trip, but I went in with a couple of nice fellows, Ted A. and Larry D.. We got to London about 1300 on Tuesday and checked in at the American Officers’ Red Cross Club – the Reindeer Club, so-called. They had rooms for us, and I must say, for the 1st time since I’ve had any contact with them, the Red Cross is doing a fine job here in England.
After washing, we just wandered around aimlessly, looked in shop windows, stopped at book stores etc. In the evening we went to the Piccadilly Hotel and had dinner and some rum (all they had). We got to bed early.
Wednesday, yesterday, I was determined to find out about the possibility of calling home and you, and also about making a broadcast. Concerning the former – I visited the central telephone office and was informed that at the present time – no calls were allowed, but that the ban might be lifted “one day”, as they put it. Darling I would give anything just to say ‘hello’ and tell you orally that I love you and hear you say the same. I’m not giving up, though, and I’ll try them again.
The BBC has several offices in London and I guess I hit everyone but the right one, dear. Each office sent me to another one and no one seemed to know anything much about the Sat. nite rebroadcast. Some of the English are really stupid. I didn’t follow through because I suspected anyway that it takes place on Thursdays. But I’ll try that again, too, dear.
Well – the boys wanted to round up some women – as is usual for the boys, but I didn’t so we split up for the late afternoon and evening. I preferred to wander around and watch people. England, or London, rather, is fascinating for its Cosmopolitan people. You see French, Polish, Norwegian, Yugoslav etc. officers all over, not to mention Scotch soldiers formally dressed in kilts – out walking or dancing with a girl. I’m still not used to it and find it amusing.
I decided to go to the Grosvenor House for tea. Everybody in England, everybody has tea from 4-6 pm. They stop their work; if you’re in a barber shop, a girl brings tea in to the barber; a fellow I know went to a matinée and everyone was served tea in the intermission between the 2nd and 3rd act. They’re crazy!
The Grosvenor House is very lovely and serves nice pastry with the tea. Incidentally, if you ask for no milk in the tea, they think you’re crazy. Well I sat down at a small table, or rather was seated. Next to me was a man of about 50 and we got to talking. He was waiting for his sister and brother-in-law to join him and asked me to, also. He was very interesting – Edwin Steiner – was his name, I don’t know his nationality – or should I say religion. About 1700, a couple aged about 50, also, came in and we were introduced. They were very interesting, had traveled in the U.S. in 1938 and we exchanged ideas and views. About 1800 tea is usually over. They asked me what my plans were and I had none, of course. Well they insisted I have dinner with them – and frankly, I didn’t mind accepting, because I hate to eat alone. We got into a cab and went to the Trocadero – which is really a very elaborate night club type restaurant (an ash-tray and plate is included in the trash I’m sending you, dear). We had some cocktails, etc. and then dinner – roast pigeon, by the way. It wasn’t bad either. They had that – or rabbit. Anyway we spent the entire evening there and they were really swell. We became quite friendly and at the end of the evening they all invited me to visit them at their home the next time I got to London. I don’t expect I will though, dear, because they live out of town in a place called Godalming, in Surrey. It helped pass a very pleasant and quiet evening though – and then I went back to the club and to bed. This a.m. we started back – and there you are again darling, with a full account of my activities. Perhaps the next time I go to London, I can arrange to meet Frank.
After we’ve been here 3 mos. – we’re entitled to a 7 days’ leave. Most everyone goes to Edinburgh for some reason or another. One fellow I know was able to buy some swell plaid material for the making of a dress. It’s not usually available – but if I ever get there – and can get some – do you like plaid, and what kind?
Darling – that’s all for now; I’m going out to see about the mail, and if I get my quota I ought to have a pleasant evening in store for me. Sweetheart – not one moment that I was away did I have you out of my mind. Always it was ‘wouldn’t it be wonderful if Wilma were here with me?’ Some day, though, darling, you will be, and it will be wonderful. Solong for now Sweetheart, until tomorrow.
All my love –
Greg.
Regards to the family
Love
G.
* TIDBIT *
about the Trocadero Restaurant and J. Lyons & Co., Ltd.
Photo of ashtray taken from the Trocadero (The bottom has the inscription: J. Lyons & Co. Ltd.)
London in the 1890's, unlike many European capitals, had no great restaurant. The Trocadero Restaurant of J. Lyons & Co., Ltd. opened in London in 1896 at a site on Shaftesbury Avenue near the theaters of the West End, which formerly had been occupied by the notorious Argyll Rooms, where wealthy men hired prostitutes. The new settings were magnificent in an Opera Baroque style, and the various Trocaderos of the English-speaking world have derived their names from this original, the epitome of grand Edwardian catering. Murals on Arthurian themes decorated the grand staircase, and the Long Bar catered to gentlemen only.
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Postcard of the Trocadero Entrance
J. Lyons & Co., Ltd. had been set up by tobacco salesmen Barnett Salmon, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein, as a mobile caterer providing meals at exhibitions and private functions in the 1890's. They felt it inappropriate to use their names, as tobacconists, and approached Joseph Lyons to run the new company. He agreed and became an employee and part owner of the new company - and ultimately Director, knighted in 1911.
Salmon & Gluckstein, Tobacconists
The first Lyons teashop opened in 1894 at 213 Piccadilly. It was the forerunner of some 250 white and gold fronted tea shops which occupied prominent positions in many of London's high streets and suburban towns and cities. Corner sites with two entrances were preferred. At one time seven teashops operated in London's Oxford Street alone. Food and beverage charges were identical in each tea shop and the highest standards of hygiene were demanded by management. A customer's complaint was a serious matter investigated at the highest level. Such attention to detail was one of the secrets of their success, for the name of Lyons had come to convey to the public a standard of good quality at a reasonable price. Their tea was said to be the best available and the blend used was never sold or made available to the public.
During the grim days of World War I, the Trocadero initiated the first "concert tea", where tea was served in the Empire Hall, accompanied by a full concert program. After WWI, cabaret was a feature of the Grill Room. An example can be seen here:
From these beginnings, Lyons became one of the largest catering and food manufacturing companies in the world. Always innovative and with an acute awareness of popular taste, Lyons brought a unique blend of showmanship, style and spectacle to its aim of combining high quality with value for money by maintaining control of all its manufacturing and servicing departments. Its world-leading food laboratory attracted many graduates from Oxford and Cambridge. In fact, Margaret Thatcher worked as a scientist in the laboratory before she became a member of the British Parliament and eventually Britain's first woman Prime Minister.
J. Lyons & Co. Ltd. expanded into building and operating hotels, laundries, tea estates, meat pie companies, ice-cream companies, tea and coffee companies, engineering works, jam and soft drink factories and confectionery manufacturing. They were the first to introduce frozen food to the British public. During WWII they managed one of the largest bomb-making facilities in the UK and their engineering works made a range of war material. They packed millions of rations for troops fighting in Asia and other parts of the world and bequeathed one of their teashops to the American personnel stationed at Grosvenor Square. Another of their tea shops formed part of the famous Rainbow Corner in Shaftsbury Avenue, near Piccadilly Circus.
After WWII the company embarked on a rebuilding program, expanding their operations into Europe and America. They acquired Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream and Dunkin Donuts. The Trocadero Restaurant closed on 13 February, 1965. Over-expansion and a difficult international economy in the 1970's began their demise. In 1978 Allied Breweries Ltd made an offer for the company which was accepted and Lyons lost its independence. It survived for a few years under new management but eventually it's component parts were gradually sold to pay for acquisitions associated with the drinks trade, notably Hiram Walker of Canada and Pedro Domecq of Spain. The Lyons company had survived for over 100 years having traded from 1887 until 1998 as J. Lyons & Co. Ltd.
Greg wrote these postcards while relaxing at the American Officers' Red Cross Club during this 48-hour pass to London. He sent the first to Wilma's parents, and the second to Wilma. In both cases, the censor's stamp was placed over the text of the message, so that the address would be clear. The word "FREE" was written where a stamp would be placed. Wilma's annotations on the postcard sent to her parents indicate that it was received on the 25th of February, more than a month later.
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A Royal Warrant allowed the words "Fine Art Publishers to their Majesties the King and Queen and to Her Majesty Queen Mary" to be imprinted in addition to a logo bearing the words "By Appointment". These two postcards seem to come from a series as they are labeled "Gravure Postcard London" Nos. 14E and 14D. That they bear words of encouragement regarding the war effort from the Prime Minister indicates they were produced early in the war, as the London factory was destroyed by bombs on the 29th of December, 1940.
Most Deltiologists (postcard collectors) know the name Raphael Tuck and Sons as one of the most prestigious and prolific postcard publishing companies. It was the sons of Raphael, Adolph Tuck in particular, who managed the explosive growth of this successful business in its early postcard era. Raphael had moved to England from Prussia in 1865 to set up a business selling picture frames from a small shop. By 1870 they were importing and publishing printed paper products.
In 1879 the young Adolph Tuck offered prizes of a total of 500 guineas (which would be about US $10,000 today) to design new Christmas cards. Five thousand designs were submitted and were judged by members of the Royal Academy. An exhibition was held in the Dudley Galleries in Piccadilly, London. Newspapers around the world reported the enormous success. Suddenly, the name Raphael Tuck was known worldwide. Christmas cards were in common use thereafter.
By 1881 Adolph was running Tuck's. In 1893, the company was awarded its first Royal Warrant by Queen Victoria, a measure of its sudden success in Britain. By the end of the 19th century Tuck's had become a major publisher of prints, Christmas and Valentines cards, scrapbook scraps, paper dolls, books, and calendars.
In November 1899 British Postal regulations were changed so that British publishers could, for the first time, publish picture postcards at the full Universal Postal Union agreed size of 5.5 by 3.5 inches. Adolph Tuck's company was the first to publish such cards with the immediate release of a set of 12 London View vignettes. Others sets swiftly followed and the postcard boom had begun.
Adolph was an astute businessman and clever marketeer. In 1900, to promote sales, his company announced a postcard collecting competition, offering a prize for the biggest collection of Tuck's postcards. This triggered a craze and several more competitions followed. Another effort to stimulate sales came in 1903 when Tuck followed the traditions of the art market and published limited edition proof sets targeted at the collector. All of this placed Tuck's firmly at the foundation of the postcard collecting boom with Adolph Tuck leading the way into the pre-WWI golden era of postcard collecting.
Adolph died in 1926 but the Tuck's business continued into the 1960's when it was sold. Unfortunately, early company records, archives of artwork, original photographs and designs were lost in that 1940 London air raid.
Much of this information came from a blog called About Postcards.
Wilma sent this comic to Greg from the Boston Traveler, dated 18 January, 1944. Her annotations are even better than the comic! Her additions include: an "A" over the garage, the car defined as a "convertible", a sun drawn in with the words "sun always shining for us", clouds scribbled out and labeled "no clouds", an arrow pointing to "our house", and the dog labeled "a scotty, perhaps?", Harvard Square pointing to the trousers. When she sent this, Wilma had not yet learned to drive, adding to the joke between them.
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Nuts and Jolts, 18 January, 1944
Syndicated for three decades, Nuts and Jolts was a stand-alone panel cartoon featuring an ever-changing cast of everyday people doing silly things.
Bill Holman took over the panel in July of 1935 upon the death of Gaar Williams, originally using a number of different titles. The gag panel began to be called Nuts And Jolts in July of 1939 and was syndicated by the Chicago Tribune - New York News Syndicate until 1970.
Bill Holman was perhaps best known for his fun-filled strip Smokey Stover, featuring the wacky adventures of a fireman. Holman loved word play, and all of his features were flush with puns. The panels of Smokey Stover regularly included sight gags, humorous mishaps, absurd vehicles and bizarre household items—including oddly-shaped furniture, clocks, vases, and personal items. Crazy framed pictures which change completely from panel to panel, with subjects literally jumping out of the frames — added to the overall lively foolishness that pervaded the strip.
His most frequent nonsense word by far was "foo". Holman peppered his work with "foo" labels and puns. Smokey often called himself a "foo fighter" rather than a "firefighter." Holman also used the word "foo" on signs, lists, license plates, and the character remarks randomly yet frequently. The phrase "foo fighter," also taken from Holman’s strip, was used by Allied aircraft pilots in World War II to describe various UFOs or mysterious aerial phenomena seen in the skies over both the European and Pacific Theaters of Operations. Today, “Foo” is used as a ubiquitous sample in all forms of writing software, including for use as class names, variable assignment, database username/password combinations, temporary filenames, and the like.
Back of Comic advertising a Woman's Suit for $24.50
What shall I do – I miss you so? I try to act gay, tell jokes, play bridge, read, and countless other things, but sweetheart – I end up missing you more and more. This morning when I arrived at the hospital, my men wanted to know why I looked so blue, so again I told them I was in love with a “lovely girl whom I couldn’t see, couldn’t kiss, couldn’t make love to – until the war ended”. You know what they said, sweetheart? One of them said, “Boy, she must be some girl to make you look and feel like that!” another one added that he had been with me for eighteen months and I’ve never acted the way I have since I met you. He said he’d been watching me and he knew the symptoms from sometime this summer. So in defense, dear, I said “Oh – it’s not that bad!”; to which, in unison, they all joined with an “Oh! Yeah!” Now, as we used to say when we were children, how do you like that for apples?
Anyway, darling, it should be very apparent to you how much I miss you and love you. No doubt men have written often before the way I have. If they were all as sincere as I am, sweetheart, they must have really been in love.
Today has been dull and foggy and I can’t say the surroundings made me feel any better. I stayed at the hospital for about an hour this morning, and then I decided to make a trip around to the various gun sections of one of the batteries. I did that, and it helped pass the time away pretty well. I don’t see all of the men as much as I used to, and wherever I went there were lots of questions concerning their health, families, babies, etc. It was truly like old times.
At noon – nothing particular happened and I came right back here to the hospital. I have to prepare an S.O.P. (standard operating procedure) for the running of the medical detachment, care of casualties etc. This makes about the 4th one I’ve made, but the situations change, depending on the assignment of the battalion – so the S.O.P. changes, too. When I say 4th, I don’t mean since arriving in England, I mean since being with this outfit.
I spent most of the afternoon planning it, then I dictated it to my staff sergeant and he is now typing it. With it I had to draw a rough map to show various routes etc. I swear – Charlie has a better job than I have. He carries the same rating and salary but doesn’t have to bother about reports and a lot of other junk that I’m responsible for. Some day I think I’ll talk the Colonel into swapping our jobs around.
Speaking of jobs, darling, how are you doing? I suppose in some of the letters I should be receiving any one of these days – you’ll probably mention the subject. I wish you luck anyway.
As I wrote you yesterday, I’m planning to have 48 hours off and will probably go to London again. It’s very likely I’ll go tomorrow morning, darling – and how I wish I had a 48 hr pass to see you – or did I mention that once before?
It won’t help me miss you less, darling, and I don’t want it to. I once wrote you – that the longing and the missing – though torturing in a way, nevertheless are enriching. All of it adds up to life and the living of it, and anyone who hasn’t missed someone or longed for someone is lacking in the full appreciation of that someone. If that is so, sweetheart, I appreciate and value you – like you have no idea at all! I hope I hear from you tonite, darling; it will help a great deal. Be well, take care of yourself for me, and always remember how much you mean to me.
Today, for a change, has been a very busy day – comparatively, that is – and as a result I’m writing you later than usual, dear. Last night, as I told you, I was O.D. at the hospital and it was comparatively quiet. Earlier in the evening I played bridge and ping-pong at our club. I lost in the first and won easily in the second. Can it be that the brawn in me is stronger than the mind? Don’t answer, darling!
This morning a few things arose which necessitated my going for a little ride. Some of our outfit is in another spot and Charlie Wright has been with them. It’s possible that in the next few days, I may go there, and he here. It has no significance, the APO is the same and the situation is identical with my present one. At any rate I went down to see him and talk things over. We had several things to take up. One was the subject of promotions. In a new table of organization just issued, there are several promotions open to our men, that is – the medical detachment men – and although I am the one who makes them, I like to get his opinion of how the men are doing etc.
I arrived there at about 1000 – the fog was terrific – and I stayed for dinner. Turkey, by the way, was the pièce de resistance, and it was good, dear. I returned here late p.m. and went immediately to the mail-clerk – but no luck. There’s only one consolation, darling, and that is that no one else has been getting mail this past week. Somehow that makes you feel that you aren’t being left out – but it’s a small satisfaction.
After supper – I had one of the communication men work on my radio. It plays well on electricity, but I’ve been wanting to get it hooked up for battery. None of the batteries are quite the right size in voltage for my set – and they’re building a new battery for me. But, damn it, dear – it won’t work – and up to a short while ago – the diagnosis still hadn’t been made. Boy – do I have worries!
So here I am – up to date with my activities, dear. My time is due for another 2 day pass – 2 weeks having elapsed. We were given 1 day off per week – or we can save it and get a two day pass every 2 weeks. The consensus of opinion is that you should take it – regardless of whether or not you have anything to do – or you’ll go stale. The stale part, I can believe, sweetheart. Anyway – probably Tuesday a.m. – I’ll go to London again – but I’m not sure. It’s just a question of getting away from Camp, having a few drinks, seeing some more sights and perhaps going to a show. I understand Lynn Fontanne and Alfred Lunt are in London. I’ll let you know more definitely tomorrow, dear.
Now – one other thing – darling, before saying good-night. I want your permission to use your name. It’s this way dear – we are authorized to have names, insignia etc. on our vehicles and the Medical Detachment has one vehicle. We have the stencil material already and WILMA is going on the front and sides of the car. Is that all right with you, sweetheart? It better be because I’m going to do it anyway, dear. I’ll let you know how it looks – then every morning as I get ready to go to the hospital – your name will greet me – besides being able to tell everyone who you are.
Darling, that’s all for now. I do hope your letters arrive soon. I last heard from you when you wrote on December 28th and that’s a long long time ago. I hope all is well with you, dear, and I do love you more each day, the more I think of it. The only limit in my thinking of you is when I’m asleep – and then I have my dreams – and in them I love you oh so much! So I love you. I love you. I love you – is that clear, dear?
All my love
Greg
* TIDBIT *
about Lynn Fontanne and Alfred Lunt in London
Greg mentioned perhaps seeing Fontanne and Lunt in London. Here is what he was likely to have seen:
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Lynn Fontanne, Alfred Lunt and Brian Nissen, 01 January 1944 in a scene from Love in Idleness Photo credit: New York Times Co./Getty Images
In the photo above, married stage actors Lynn Fontanne (1887-1983) and Alfred Lunt (1892-1977) (L) perform on stage with British actor Brian Nissen in a scene from Terence Rattigan's comedy, Love in Idleness, at the Lyric Theatre in London. Loosely based on the story of Hamlet, the plot looks at an idealistic, Labour-leaning eighteen year old boy who returns from evacuation to discover his mother is living with a reactionary Tory. Love in Idleness was at times performed amid falling bombs and teetering scenery, and in theaters so cold that Fontanne was said to have a lovely shade of light blue at the end of the first act.
English-born Lynn Lily Louise Fontanne and Wisconsin-born Alfred Lunt, having both trouped for years, met just before each started to get famous. The meeting consisted of Lunt's falling down some steps at rehearsal and sprawling at Fontanne's feet. By 1922, the year they were married, each had found singular acclaim. Two years later they began their great success as a team in The Guardsman. Except for individual work in 1928, the couple never again played apart, acting in everything from Dostoevsky to Noel Coward, from high drama to sheer drivel. They were the most famous stage couple in the world—and year in, year out, probably the best box office.
Lunt and Fontanne spent the war years performing in England. After World War II, they brought Love in Idleness to New York as O Mistress Mine. According to a review in Time from February 4th, 1946, O Mistress Mine had advance sales of $150,000 a week before it opened on Broadway, primarily because of the acting of Fontanne and Lunt. The article stated, "Beyond its adroitness, beyond its shimmer of personality, their acting had the tingle and fizz that made high fun of theatergoing." Theirs was a "lavender" marriage (that is, a marriage of a gay man and a lesbian designed to create and sustain the illusion of heterosexuality), and their presentation of themselves as the ideal American couple may have been their most skillful performance.
