24 February, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

24 February, 1944         1345

Dearest darling Wilma -

I’ve really been a different sort of fellow since I heard from you concerning the possibility of our becoming engaged. I’ve felt close to you up to now, dear, but just the thought of being engaged to you makes me feel so much more attached to you. I wrote my folks and told them what I had in mind and how I felt about you. I know they’ll be heartily in favor of it. So the big question is your folks. I’ll not write them until I hear from you in answer to my letter of a couple of days ago.

This morning, dear, it was beautiful outside. There was a good sky and a fairly strong sun. The air was still ‘twangy’, but there was just the earliest suggestion of Spring to it; it was the kind of morning we used to look for our baseball mitts and start throwing ‘em around. I took a ride to the Station Hospital where a couple of our men are. The countryside looked so fresh and clean. Gee wouldn’t I love to have had you to go walking with or riding with! I got back at noon, ate, and after a few things were taken care of – I started this letter.

In one of yours, which I received a few days ago – you mentioned an incident about a Jewish nurse named Aronson. I remember the name because I had a patient by that name who died – by the way – following an operation for an ovarian cyst. She was extremely fat and a poor surgical risk. Dr. Finnegan operated and I assisted. She died from a condition called paralytic ileus – which means the bowel distends and refuses to work. It occurs occasionally after an op. and more usually in old, obese people. Anyway – this nurse was related to her. I didn’t know she lived in Salem – and I don’t know why she should wonder if I were married. I’m not worried about rumors, darling, because in this case it’s no rumor. Anyway, you should have told her you were going to marry me – and that would have taken care of the matter.

By the way – you mention a “Valentine” gift. Now, darling, I never used the word “gift” as I remember. I said ‘trinket’. However – I do think of you, Sweetheart, all the time, and if anything I send you makes you realize that, I’m glad. I don’t think I mentioned to you that I’m sending you copies of the Stars and Stripes – our daily newspaper. We were under the impression that it was not allowed to be sent. I heard last week that is was permissible. From point of view of news, it will be late, of course; but I thought you might like to look over a paper that’s printed solely for soldiers. I also enclosed a rather quaint map of London which I got on one of my trips. It’s laid out in streets and gives you a perfect idea of what London is.

I don’t know, dear, what letters of mine you have found ‘changed’ – for I don’t feel that way. If I haven’t written, darling, how lonesome I’ve been – it’s not because I’m still not so – terribly so. As a matter of fact I’m glad that some of my letters sound somewhat free of that spirit. I can assure you, dear, that if I wrote you exactly how I feel sometimes – it would only make you unhappy.

Sweetheart – in reference to your question as to how much I’m telling you – and how – etc. – believe me, dear, I’m telling you all I can. If I tried to tell you more – it would only be censored. The fact is that there’s practically nothing that has occurred since my arrival here that you don’t know. By now you should have figured out about when I arrived and where. You also ought to have guessed what our mission has been so far. Have you? Beyond that – there’s not a darned thing that’s really secret. The whole country is so small that to localize one’s self is really unnecessary – even if allowed. Did you get a card from me recently, by the way? If I ever change significantly, dear, you’ll probably be aware of it in one way or another – although a space between letters is not necessarily indicative of that – as you now know.

Well, darling, that’s about all for now. The Colonel’s coming over this p.m. and we’ve got to get ready for him. This is the Army, you know. Solong for now, then, dear, and you have

My sincerest love

Greg.

* TIDBIT *

about Censorship in WWII

The censors were sensitive to two important areas in World War II. First, they didn't want a soldier to say anything that would be of value to the enemy. Second, it was considered very important in wartime for officers to know about morale issues.

Of primary importance, both at home and overseas, was the secrecy of where and how strong the troops were. "Loose lips sink ships" was a common phrase in WWII. Here are a few posters for both the soldiers and the folks back home:

CLICK ON POSTERS TO ENLARGE

The soldiers were all given guidance on what they could say, so one might think they would know how to avoid getting their mail intercepted, but not all did. From "Loose Lips Sink Ships: Eyewitness to History" comes this excerpt from a document given to soldiers entering a battle area:

THERE ARE TEN PROHIBITED SUBJECTS

1. Don't write military information of Army units -- their location, strength, materiel, or equipment.
2. Don't write of military installations.
3. Don't write of transportation facilities.
4. Don't write of convoys, their routes, ports (including ports of embarkation and disembarkation), time en route, naval protection, or war incidents occurring en route.
5. Don't disclose movements of ships, naval or merchant, troops, or aircraft.
6. Don't mention plans and forecasts or orders for future operations, whether known or just your guess.
7. Don't write about the effect of enemy operations.
8. Don't tell of any casualty until released by proper authority (The Adjutant General) and then only by using the full name of the casualty.
9. Don't attempt to formulate or use a code system, cipher, or shorthand, or any other means to conceal the true meaning of your letter. Violations of this regulation will result in severe punishment.
10. Don't give your location in any way except as authorized by proper authority. Be sure nothing you write about discloses a more specific location than the one authorized.

Finally, although no taboo was mentioned in the ten prohibitions listed above, the censors confiscated letters that used graphic language dealing with sex. Some senders would keep having their letters confiscated, never receiving any notice of the offense. Sadly, letters written in foreign languages by immigrants or the children of immigrants, more comfortable communicating home in their native language, usually were not delivered because the typical censor didn't know what they said.

While the main purpose of censorship was to keep information from the enemy, reading the outgoing mail also provided military officials with information about the beliefs and behavior of the troops, especially complaints and misconduct. Officers were watching for any weakening of desire among the troops. Morale reports by intelligence personnel censors included remarks about Army food, military leaders, furlough policies, entertainment facilities, race relations, mail service, popular rumors and enemy propaganda. Censors classified and tallied comments reflecting the soldiers' collective state of mind, giving a range of opinions, emphasizing the most common ones. This was done in an anonymous fashion although the authors' rank, division and APO were identified. Through this intelligence officers could track shifts in soldiers' concerns and attitudes over the course of the war.

The enlisted soldier was censored by an officer in his unit, and the officers were self-censored. They didn't have anyone looking at their mail regularly, although the higher level staff or base censors would randomly check officers' letters to keep an eye on them. Officers seemed to say more in their letters, possibly either because they knew better what was allowed or because they knew their mail often was not censored.

23 February, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

23 February, 1944

Dearest Sweetheart -

This afternoon I received a few more letters, scattered, but precious nevertheless. They were from Jan 27, Feb 3, 6 and 10th. First, darling, let me take up the subject of my “bashfulness” – as you put it. I guess maybe I am. You know, dear, I never discussed the subject of girls very much with my folks. Most of the relationship, and it’s sincere, in my family, has always been a tacit one. So that for example – if I brought you home to meet my folks – as I wrote yesterday, that meant more to them than all the statements of love in the world. But of course there comes a times when you do have to say something. Before I left – I spoke to my folks and told them I had met a girl who I thought would make me happy and who cared for me. I told them it was unfortunate that I had to leave so soon – because I knew if I stayed around I would want to be engaged to you and marry you. They echoed my feelings of regret that I hadn’t met you sooner. The point is, darling, without my actually using the words “I love her” – they knew how I felt about you.

The letter my mother quoted to you – was free translation and although I don’t remember the exact words, knowing my mother – she’s as bashful as I am and didn’t want to embarrass you, perhaps. This is awfully hard to explain, darling – but I am doing the best I can.

Anyway, the point is I do love you, dear, and would like nothing better than to be engaged to you – and the quicker the better. At the time my mother told you she had heard from me and you got my letter too, I wish you had told her what I wrote. I know what she’d say. My folks really love you – more than I realized. Today I got a letter from my Dad and he mentioned you again, dear. He wrote that my mother is lonesome for me and if he wants to get a smile out of her – all he has to do is mention your name and she responds immediately and says “Oy a gesund zu ihr”. I trust, dear, you know what that means.

I’m waiting to hear your reaction to my letter of yesterday. More important – it’s your folks’ reaction that I’m interested in – because they must feel it is right.

The fact that you and your mother both dreamed of me must have some significance – sweetheart. When I get back I’ll really kiss her. I’m so happy when I think of all we have to look forward to – I can hardly express myself adequately.

I want to mention a subject now that you won’t like perhaps, dear, but since we must always be on the absolute square, I must tell you. I’ll feel better if you know – because we have no secrets from each other. You know of course that I had known a nurse, non-Jewish, very well – before I met you. You’ve always been swell, and understanding too, in not asking me about her. The whole thing was unfortunate, I mean my going out with her and seeing her for month after month – but in self defense, I was a lonesome fellow in my early days at Salem and there were no Jews around. Anyway – you know – we said ‘good-bye' and parted.

I hadn’t heard from her ever since then, I never wrote and neither did she – and that’s the way that was best. I won’t say I didn’t wonder from time to time what had become of her – but that’s as far as it went. I met you, darling, and immediately realized what a fool I had been for those years I had gone out with her – not because she wasn’t nice – but because she was non-Jewish. I believe I told you something about this. No – it wasn’t rebound – as is so easy to be accused of – my love for you. I enjoyed your company so genuinely when I met you – I was ‘mad’ with myself for not having given myself the opportunity before. I knew immediately that I had wasted years and that I was crazy to think of anything but a Jewish girl; I knew this darling – as a result of meeting you and loving you.

What I started to write was that I heard from Alice yesterday. It was a little card stating simply that she had heard I was overseas and using my old address – wished me good luck. What you won’t like, darling, is that I sent her an equally well-wishing note – but I wanted you to know the truth. That’s all there is to it, dear. She’s out of my life, believe me, but I had to do the gentlemanly thing, dear. I’m sure she bears me no ill-will, nor I her. She’s very much interested in a Lieutenant Senior Grade in the Navy. He’s of the same religion and she feels she’ll be happy. Darling – that’s all there is to it, but I feel better telling you about it. I’d expect the same from you, and I know I’d get it. I shudder when I think of what unhappiness I’d have brought on myself, my family and eventually on her – had I continued to go with her. Some guiding Spirit must have given me the light to sever my relations with her.

What do you think? Are you angry with me, dear? I sincerely hope your aren’t. You mustn’t be for you know my feelings about you – and as you wrote – you must have confidence in me, too. Well – I feel better having told you about it –and that’s enough of that.

Back to us – have you told any of the girls about the possibility of our being engaged? I wonder what they would say. I suppose you’ll get all sorts of advice – but, darling, as far as I’m concerned – if your folks only give their consent – that’s all I need and we’ll go right ahead. You know – I’ll get an awfully big thrill out of that realization – that I’m engaged. It will give me such a sense of security and ambition that you can’t possible imagine.

I hope the mail service is good in the next few weeks – so I can hear from you soon. Meanwhile, Sweetheart, my love is all yours – now as for always – because it’s deep-seated, sincere and strong. So long for now, dear, and

All my love, darling

Greg.

Best regards to your family

Love

G.

22 February, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

22 February, 1944       1300

My dearest Sweetheart -

Washington’s Birthday, I believe – and just another day here. Yet I feel particularly happy today because yesterday I received your letter of February 9th in which you answer a question I put before you some time before then – by mail. At the moment, the details seem insignificant, darling; the fact is that you are willing to be engaged to me, and that’s what counts.

Let me answer an important question right away. You ask why I decided I’d like to be engaged, now that I’m away. One thing you must remember, darling, and that is that I felt I’d like to be engaged to you before I left – but I didn’t want you or your folks to think I was rushing into things. I’d have liked nothing better though, I can assure you, dear, because I knew then that you were the girl I’d like to marry.

I knew your age, dear; I felt your folks believed you were young, hadn’t seen too much of the world, etc., – and if we spoke to them about an Engagement, I knew they would resent it – and rightly so, too.

Besides all that, despite your statements, which I always believed, mind you, – I still didn’t think it fair to “tie you up”, so to speak – without giving yourself a chance to really see how you felt. I was seeing you a lot, paying you a good deal of attention and I wondered just how you would feel after I was gone. You can understand that, dear, can’t you?

Well, why mention it now, then? Darling – I’ve wanted to mention it several times – but made myself wait. I don’t know now whether or not I brought the subject up too soon. I do know that more than three months have elapsed since we said ‘au revoir’ and I feel the way I did before I left, and what is more importantly, you do, too. I said in a letter recently, each passing day, week or month in which we still feel as if we were meant for each other – gives our love more stability, dignity and meaning. If you can continue to be interested in me even though I’m so far away, if I can still feel that no other girl can mean anything to me but you, darling – than the subject of Engagement begins to make more and more sense, not only to us, but to our folks and everyone else.

Now – as to details – that’s another question altogether. First of all – it would certainly be nice to have our folks meet. It’s a rather difficult thing to do, I know, with me away, – but then – these are unusual times. The less formal the meeting the better, I would say off hand. I wish my folks had gone into your house that night they brought you home – but knowing my mother – I can understand. My father is much more free and easy. Perhaps the next time you visit my folks darling, you can get them to go in. I’ll mention it to them when I write, too. I honestly don’t know any other way, right now – do you? After they’ve met once – my folks will invite yours down, vice versa – and presto – they know each other. I know dear that it’s not as easy as all that, but what can I do from here? You will just have to be a liason officer – as the Army would put it.

Now, actually, how about your folks? Do they really feel that I want to marry you, or is it only your side of the question that they really appreciate? Of course – if I were in Boston – I would speak to your parents and tell them I wanted to marry you, believed I could provide you with the things you were accustomed to have, and more than all that, that I could make you happy, as my wife. I would tell them I was aware of our age difference, but that in knowing you – I never felt that you were so much younger – or I so much older. I would make them see, dear, that we were compatible and that I thought we were matched. Telling them that, darling, would be easy, I think – although I suppose I might feel somewhat meek when I was actually doing it.

Writing to your Dad – is different. For one thing, I’d hate to be premature about it and therefore put him on the spot as what to answer me. I really don’t know how to tackle that angle – although the old maxim went ‘faint heart never won fair maiden’. Can you give me just a little more inclination as to what you think would be the best approach, sweetheart?

Now suppose we finally exchange our ideas and your folks consent? They would realize that it was not just a passing romance and that we really wanted to get married. Then I don’t think it would be a crazy idea, after all, to become engaged. The fact is that it should be an Engagement and not a marriage. To make myself perfectly clear, darling, I mean just this: I am after all – a soldier now, and as such – anything can happen to me before war’s end. I might not come back, or I might not come back the way I’d like to. I am not being dramatic, sweetheart, as you know. What I’m driving at is that being engaged is not like being married. You haven’t completely committed yourself – and if anything should happen to me – I guess you know that in one case I couldn’t marry you and in another I wouldn’t want to. If your folks understand how I feel about the matter – perhaps they will understand more easily that I’m not trying to rush things, pin you down – or any other such thing, Sweetheart. I don’t like to write so coldly, but I love you darling and must have you know my every thought.

Assuming then that everything was understood – the next logical step would be for me to give you a ring – and how I’d love to do that! I don’t know your taste on that matter, sweetheart. Some girls like to pick their rings, others – to be surprised. The point is my father’s a peach along those lines and I know he’d get one for me. I have the money for it and I’d love to spend it on you. As for announcing it – never having been engaged before, dear – I know little about it. I believe girls do, though – and you can tell me about it.

Now – after what you’ve read, have I answered some of your questions? Does it still seem too difficult? Do you think we can do it? I’ll await your reply eagerly darling, because nothing has excited me in my life – so much as this thought. However – if you feel we ought to wait, I’m going to leave that up to you, dear, until such a time as you think it would be better. For me – the sooner the better!

Darling the very thought thrills me, and I can’t wait until I hear from you again. All else – including the war – seems unimportant. Your mention of Stan as a “pest” and hounding you – I discussed in yesterday’s letter. Please, dear, why don’t you just tell him not to bother you, call you etc.? I hope you’re not going out with him. Tell him we’re to be engaged – See if that makes any difference.

I’ll stop now, darling, and I do hope to hear from you soon – in answer to this letter. Best regards to your folks. Will you tell them about this letter, dear, and see what they say?

So long, dear, and

All my love is yours

Greg

P.S. I’ll drop Bea a note –

Thanks for her address

21 February, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

21 February, 1944      0930

Dearest darling Wilma -

Another early start today but this time because I have a few things to do later and I wanted to be certain I had written to you first. I’m going over to visit one of my other batteries this morning and we’ll probably have lunch there. I also have to visit the Medical Supply Depot and take care of our monthly requisition. That’s usually a long drawn out affair.

Yesterday, darling, was quiet and restful all day. In the evening there was a little excitement, shall I say; I went over to Operations and found that very interesting. Incidentally, darling, if I ever mention “excitement”, please don’t say anything about it to my folks because they’d worry themselves sick – and unnecessarily, too. I got to bed at 2230 and was awakened at 2315. I was later awakened at 0315. It was almost like the old days in practice, i.e. the getting up –

I got two more letters, sweetheart, yesterday, written the 19th and the 20th, and a very nice letter from your Mother – who intimates that someone in the household is fond of me. I wonder who?

The letter of the 19th shows me that a girl thinks of one thing in respect to marriage and a fellow – of something else – but that’s the way it should be. I wrote you just the other day that somehow I look beyond the actual preparation etc., and find ourselves in Salem. Naturally you can’t project yourself the same way. Had I not been already set up in Salem, dear, – neither would I. But the fact is I had been in practice for a couple of years. I had met enough people to make myself feel as if I belonged in Salem – and the result is it seems perfectly natural for me to dream about us being there and taking up where I left off. I haven’t a doubt in the world but what you’ll fit into Salem without and trouble at all. I suppose I told you this before – but I can remind you again – if it’s anything like what it was for me, dear, our circle of friends will be bigger among the non-Jews than the Jewish. That will be due simply because there are more of the former in Salem. Regardless, though, I’m certain we’ll have a lot of friends and that they’ll all like you.

Your letter of the 20th – made me do a lot of thinking, sweetheart, and not because you needed help in deciding about your job. For one thing – you made up your mind about that already – and I think you were correct. Getting to be a buyer had no real ultimate point, darling, because you don’t expect to be doing it as a career, anyway. And having to struggle as a salesgirl in the interim – doesn’t seem worthwhile. Perhaps you’ll land something a little more suited to your background.

But that isn’t what made me do my thinking, darling. Your mention of Stan, again, did though. Ever since I’ve known you, for some reason or another, Stan has been in the background – whether he was doing little things for you, calling you about your watch, or telling you one thing and me another. Stan and I have been close friends for 10 or 15 years as you well know – but he changed a great deal after his illness – and apparently, not only physically –

Now since I left, from time to time his name has cropped up in your writing and mine. First it was in reference to Shirley and there’s no doubt now in my mind that he was continually telling us different stories. Whatever they were, he was always managing to see or call you and telling you about it. He ended up by saying that he was through – when the reverse seems more likely. The fact is he did tell you once that he finally knew he was in love. What made him change his mind, I wonder?

Whatever it was, why does he have to confide in you so much and call and see you so often? But what makes me really ‘mad’ is your statement that he has done and said things that made you quite angry. What things, dear? Why should he say and do things that should make you feel that way? Darling – you might as well tell me everything that’s going on – because otherwise my imagination will merely run rampant and that shouldn’t be. You need not fear that I will write him and say anything about it, for example. If they are things you don’t like, I feel you’re capable and sensible enough to handle them yourself. But if you’re being nice to him just for my sake, you’re making a very big mistake. I’ve always been on the up-and-up with Stan in every respect – ever since I’ve known him. I’ve gone out with him a lot in the past, introduced him to a lot of nice people in Salem and Marblehead and he always was welcome wherever I went. He did me a lot of favors, but darling, I believe I always repaid them in many many ways.

The fact is that after all that – I feel that one way or another, Stan is not on the square with me right now and it bothers me. For one thing, I don’t like to lose a good friend, and for another – I don’t want him troubling you. Why doesn’t he leave you alone? He apparently is in constant touch with you, and I might as well be frank, dear, I don’t like it. You can call it jealousy or some other name – but I have felt uncomfortable about it ever since you went out with him that night and he never mentioned it. I didn’t trust him from that time on. Now with his Shirley affair apparently over with – he seems to have found a new interest. Stan is very smooth and very good company; he does have a zest for living and a generally good manner – as you say – but if he’s acting in such a way as to make you write you were quite angry, I certainly wish you would discourage him.

Will you write me, dear, and tell me everything? I feel you’ve been shielding him – not because you want to hide anything from me – but because you don’t want to start any trouble between us. Well – don’t worry about that. I was on my guard right after your mother tipped me off a long time ago.

I’m sorry, Sweetheart, that I’ve had to write in this tone. We’ve been corresponding for a long time now and I’ve written a good many letters – but none quite like this one – and I hated to do it. But I must be honest with you at all times. I love you too much, dear, to let anything interfere with us, no matter who it is. Yes. I bless the day that brought us together and always shall. The fact that you always reassure me that my love is reciprocated is one of the nicest things a guy away from home – in love with a girl – can read and sweetheart it always makes me so happy to read it. My plans and thought of the future are so inextricably interwoven with you – that I can’t conceive of anything but you and me together, married and happy – after the war. And that’s the way it will be – with God’s help.

Excuse me again, darling, for writing the way I did, but your letter did arouse me. I hope you write me everything about Stan. I’ll feel easier if you tell me and I know.

That’s all the time I have for now, dearest, but I’ll repeat again – I love you so very much – I resent any outside interference. Do you blame me, dear? Best regards to everyone and for now

All my love

Greg

20 February, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

Sunday Morning

20 February, 1944        0930

Dearest sweetheart –

One thing you won’t have to worry about is my staying in bed late. For one thing, I expect to be busy with my work and the hospital, and for another – I never did indulge in the well-known luxury. Maybe I never had the right incentive, dear. I’ll probably be able to change on very short notice though.

Down here – some of the fellow are allowed to sleep a bit later on Sundays, but I inevitably awaken at the usual hour. This morning there’s very little to do and that’s why I’m writing so early.

Well yesterday I got a few letters from you, Sweetheart, and most welcome, too. I got one from January 19th, Feb. 2, a V-mail from February 4th and an airmail from the 7th of February. I read them all with interest and noted particularly your various moods, dear, in your writing. In one – you seemed just a little bit tired, darling, and in that connection I wanted to mention this before – you know how much I love your letters and want them, but I know that sometimes if you’re out for a day or an evening, that it must be difficult for you to get a letter written. In that case dear, you know I’ll understand. If you’re very tired or blue, or upset in any other way, it’s hard to write. In my own case it’s different. I can usually write almost any time of the day or evening. If I happen to be blue or discouraged (I’m never physically tired), I wait and sure enough, later in the day I feel better and then I write. And I know I have more time than you, anyway.

You wrote in one of your letters that you had had a serious talk with your parents about us, dear. I’m glad that the result was pleasant and satisfying, as you put it. They’re right about dating, and I believe I’ve expressed myself on that score before, sweetheart, so enough said. I will say this. I marvel at your will power and lack of desire to go out. It so chimes with my own feelings, that I’m amazed at it all. We must really be in love, dear, and for that I’m glad.

You mention in the same letter about your hesitancy in going over to my house too often. We’ve been very frank with each other, so frank – that I mentioned the matter even before you did – but only in anticipation, dear, of your reaction. Engaged – or unengaged, it makes little difference to me or my folks. You’ve met my family enough times now to know how plain and real they are. The fact is, I brought you to my house in the first place. That meant a great deal to them, because unlike many fellows, I was not in the habit of bringing girls to my home. You can verify that very easily. So that it was sort of understood that when I did bring a girl to meet my folks, it meant that that was the girl I intended to marry. I know my folks understand that just as I’ve explained that to you now. Please feel free in every sense of the word to visit my house as often as you can. As a matter of fact – if my folks don’t invite you very often – it’s because they don’t want you to think that they are taking too much for granted from you. I know – they’re like that. I’m sure they love you, darling, because that’s what I hear in every letter, and I know nothing will please them more than our marriage.

Last night was another quiet night, dear. One of the officers from the other half of our battalion came over and we played cribbage and sipped beer. I heard a re-broadcast of a Dinah Shore program and also one by Xavier Cugat. I enjoyed one number particularly – ‘Green Eyes’. Today I shall read and relax again. I’m amazed at my lack of boredom. I enjoy sitting around without bothering to ‘dress-up’. Incidentally, you’ll have trouble with me when we’re married, darling, trying to get me to do just that. I love to hang around in old sport shoes, baggy flannels – and guess what – my new sweater of course!!

Well, Sweetheart, that’s all for now I guess. I hope to hear from you again today – although I can’t kick if I don’t. Best regards to everyone and all my love is yours, darling, all of it.

Greg

* TIDBIT *

Xavier Cugat and his Waldorf Astoria Orchestra
Perform Green Eyes

19 Februrary, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

19 February, 1944      0930

Dearest sweetheart –

Saturday morning has become inspection morning once more. There was a time when it was felt that once overseas – we could do without the pomp and circumstance that we had in garrison back home. But here we are having it again. I suppose if we ever get to some real front lines – action will have to stop on Saturday mornings to allow inspecting officers to come around. We’ve already been inspected this morning, dear, and everything was found to be all right. They don’t usually bother us very much, anyway – but it’s the idea of it that I don’t like. Oh well – enough of that.

The Saturdays really do roll along. Despite almost 20 months of being in the Army and having one day just like the other, I still can’t shake that feeling of having done something a little bit different on the week-end. I don’t suppose I’ll ever lose that feeling, darling, and it’s just as well.

In that connection, dear, – you ask me to write more about my activity. Do you mean what the outfit is doing etc. – or my own.? I think you refer to the latter – but I don’t know what more I can write you, Sweetheart, beyond which I already have. The sum and substance of it is that I just don’t have any activity – and limited as yours has been, dear, I can assure you that mine is even more so. Don’t forget I don’t have friends, relatives, etc. to call on the phone. The only familiar faces I see are those of the soldiers around me. And when I’m blue, dear, I don’t have my mother and father to talk things over with. I’m not complaining though, because our position could be so much worse! But getting back to my activity, in sum and substance it goes somewhat like this: breakfast between 0700 and 0730; listen to BBC at 0800 – news; shave 0830+; sick-call 0900 and generally over about 1000; visit gun section 1000-1200 and then lunch. After lunch, darling, I’ve been writing you and then at 1400 I’ve been teaching first aid, medicine etc. until about 1530-1600; between 1600-1700 I usually do some reading or check up on our reports or some such thing. At 1700 we eat and from then on we hang around in quarters. I’ve told you what that amounts to, already. How does this program vary? It doesn’t very much, dear – but occasionally we go to a movie or some U.S.O. or special service program on the post. Our time off is 48 hours about every 2 weeks – I went 3 weeks ago and as yet have nothing in view to make me go again. Once you miss the pass, it’s missed, dear – so I won’t be going anyway for about another week.

Another question you asked, sweetheart, was whether or not I changed my mind about going out. Darling – it isn’t a question of changing my mind at all. I didn’t make up my mind about not going out with girls. I knew I didn’t want to, I had no desire to and what’s more dear – that’s the way I still feel and I know I’ll continue to feel that way. I just can’t conceive of being with anyone else but you, darling. I couldn’t be hearing from you daily and writing you as often as I can – and feel otherwise. You and only you, dearest are my main theme and you are the only one who interests me.

I got two letters from Eleanor yesterday, one from my brother and two cards from my father – one from N.Y., the other from Pittsburgh. I hadn’t known he was on his way to Ohio. Eleanor wrote me about my bank balance and that my government checks were arriving on schedule. Lawrence wrote me about school, etc.

And so there you are, dear. That’s about all for now – but I do hope the mail situation has straightened out for you. You must by now have received a whole batch of my letters. Your inability to ration them is like mine. I just can’t wait and I read them all when they arrive. I love to have you tell me you love me, darling, and I love to tell you the same. How am I doing in that respect? At any rate – you must know I do – and how much. I want you to always remember that, dear, until I can prove it to you in person. So long for now, sweetheart and for now

All my love

Greg

Regards to the family

Love

G.

18 February, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

18 February, 1944       1030

Dearest darling Wilma –

Well this makes a run of 3 days of bleak wintry days – and yet it never gets as cold as our own dear New England. Today we are having snow flurries, but it hasn’t amounted to much. Nevertheless I’ve been sort of reluctant to do much traveling about in an open jeep, so here I am again at the Dispensary, getting off an early letter to you, dear.

Last night we spent another nice quiet evening in our quarters. Thursday is ration day and we got our allotment of gum, soap, chocolate bars, matches and tobacco. One of the boys had received a box of chocolates – Apollo, I didn’t know they were still making them. They came in rather good condition and we gorged ourselves. All of us had some reading material, and we just sat around and took it easy. I received 2 copies of the Boston Herald yesterday, January 4th and 8th. Despite the age, dear, you’d be surprised at what good reading they make. Just to see a familiar picture or read the name of a street you know – is very satisfying. And the sport page keeps you up to date on home activities. In addition – I got my first copy of the Pony Edition of Time Magazine. It was the January 31st copy – and reading a magazine here that is only 2 weeks old or so is something. I’m glad my brother sent me it.

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE
   
The Apollo Chocolates Box
F.H. Roberts Co., Boston, MA Since 1898

Anyway you can see, darling, that I had plenty to read. I came across an old physiology and anatomy book down here and I think I’m going to review a bit of the stuff I’ve become rusty on.

Gee – one item in the news this morning was on the morbid side. No doubt you got it before this. I refer to the 100 soldiers missing after the sinking of a troop ship in European waters. I guess I'm lucky to be safe on land. I’m glad more for your sake and the sake of my folks – and I’m glad you didn’t have to worry about me when you heard of that sinking. It must have been a terrible shock to a good many families at home. I guess most of us thought that our troops were safe from that hazard.

I got a letter from you yesterday written January 18th – which is a way back. Every now and then we get older letters, but I don’t mind very much. Enclosed was a clipping – or rather cartoon from the Traveler which was very cute. How is your driving coming along, darling? Don’t worry though – if you want to put the car in that way, why that’s the way you’ll put it. On second thought, we’ll limit that just to your car. I see by the various additions that you have a good imagination, sweetheart. I like that, because I have one too. Blotting out of the clouds and drawing in the sun – is very symbolic, and I’m sure it will be that way for us. The dog is assuredly a Scotty, if you like them, too.

This cartoon was included in the letter of 18 January, 1944.

I guess you’re going to be a very practical wife, darling. Very few girls know much about the value of money and very few girls know much about loans, interest – etc. It will be nice to have a wife who knows about money, what we’re doing with it and how it’s being saved or invested. I assume of course that we’ll have money to save and invest, dear. After the war, sweetheart, and as soon as we’re married – we’ll go over all that together. We’ll appraise what insurance I have, see if it’s enough and the right kind, plan for the future etc. I have a little money in savings which perhaps could be used to better advantage, although when I last heard, it was still bringing about 3% interest, compounded quarter-annually. I also have a little money invested in cooperative shares which seemed to me to be the thing to do – at one time. We’ll use a good part of it getting a car, starting our home, getting clothes, etc. – but hell – with any kind of break, I’ll make more, I know – because I did reasonably well without any particular incentive. I’ll really have something to work for with you as my wife and the prospects of a family. Gosh – I get a big kick out of thinking about such things, darling.

I’ll stop now – but continue dreaming, if you don’t mind, sweetheart. I feel very close to you when I think and plan of the future. We’re going to have a grand time together, dear, and to say that I’m looking forward to it is to utter the world’s greatest understatement. So long for now, darling and you have all my love

Greg.

* TIDBIT *

About the Sinking of the USS Leary
and the Loss of 100 Men

CLICK ON PICTURE TO ENLARGE

The USS Leary (DD-158)

From The blog of Jerome Prophet comes this incredible story of the tragic sinking of the USS Leary by Lt. Scott Robinson, H Division, USS North Carolina Historical Detachment.

On 17 December, 1943, CTG 21.14 commanded by Captain A.J. Isbell aboard the USS Card (CVE-11), left Casablanca and steamed in support of convoy GUS-24. Orders from Washington detached the Card group, Leary (DD158), Schenck (DD159), Decatur and Babbitt, to track down a U-boat concentration around latitude 45N, longitude 22W. The Card was one of the "jeep" (escort) carriers and the destroyers were old WWI vintage four-stack destroyers.

Just before dusk on the 23rd, the seas were so rough that a Wildcat and her crew were lost from the deck of the Card. An additional sailor was swept off her flight deck. While the air crew was recovered, the sailor was nowhere to be found in the rough seas. Decatur's steering gear room was flooded and she was being steered by hand.

Captain Isbell had no way of knowing that group Borkum (13 subs) had rallied and lay in waiting for their prey 85 miles dead ahead. With the rough seas and the stricken Decatur, Isbell could not evade the group and decided to press ahead. The die was cast.

At 2200, U-305 sighted Card and ordered the wolfpack to close. At 2230 Card's radar picked up her first surface contact. Soon, there were too many to track. Card, with Decatur in close proximity had to make best speed dead ahead to outrun the wolfpack. Leary and the stricken Decatur followed the Card and took evasive action. Things began to happen in rapid succession. The heat was on and the ships were in the middle of a cauldron of war and Mother Nature's fury.

Several subs pursued Card through the night. At 0630, she was able to launch her first aircraft and a sub was immediately spotted 7000 yards on her port quarter. The subs dove under the safety of the waves and Card was spared. Meanwhile, the two destroyers, Schenck and Leary, were engaged in battle with the remainder of Group Borkum. Torpedoes were seen in the water heading for Schenck. The closest was one that went right under her bow. A wave had crested just in time and the Schenck was spared. She steamed towards Leary to join in a systematic search of the region.

As Leary moved out to chase the more distant, Schenck made a 4th contact and lost it at about 2500 yards. She sighted a U-boat diving and evaded a torpedo to port. She closed to 800 yards and at 0145, began a nine depth charge pattern. The U-boat was damaged and surfaced at 0215. Schenck closed for the coup-de-gras. The boat dove. At 0229, secondary underwater explosions were heard and a brief surface contact was made. A distress signal was intercepted. As Schenck closed on the stricken U-boat, she slipped under the waves with no survivors. An oil slick surfaced. This was the end of U-645. The U-boat sank with 55 men and group Borkum's Doctor.

A series of mishaps were rapidly occurring aboard Leary. At 0158, Leary commanded by Commander James Kyes, made radar contact and fired a star shell to illuminate the target. This only illuminated her own position for the shadowing subs. As the sub submerged to periscope depth, there was a misunderstanding and Leary's guns continued to fire. At 0208, when sound contact was gained, the squawk box between the sound room and bridge failed to function and almost two minutes elapsed before Commander Kyes got the word, and, too late, ordered right rudder.

U-275 had been watching Leary for almost ten minutes. At 0210 as Leary commenced her turn, Oberluetnant Bork fired two well aimed Zaukoning torpedoes. They hit Leary in rapid succession. One in the after engine room, and one in the after hold. All power was lost. The crew in the engineering spaces were killed outright by severed steam lines. She listed to starboard by 25 degrees and settled rapidly. The torpedo men barely had time to safe her depth charges. This action undoubtedly saved many lives. The entire aft section of the destroyer became a tangle of twisted metal and human lives extinguished. Leary began to break apart and settle. RT Butch Hauer started the auxiliary generator and called to Schenck for assistance. As Schenck was taking an oil sample, Leary five miles distant, had reported that she had just been torpedoed. U-275 's fish had hit their mark. Schenck headed at flank speed to aid her sister.

Three or four minutes after the explosions, the Executive Officer, Lt. Robert Watson, concluded a quick inspection. He reported to Commander Kyes. Kyes ordered abandon ship. BM Walter Eshelman directed men to jettison all floatable gear and abandonment was professional and orderly as if a drill. Watson reported that everyone except himself and the skipper had left and obtained permission for one more look around to see if any wounded men had been forgotten. U-382 had moved into position and launched a third torpedo. It struck at 0241 in the forward engine space. Leary broke apart and went down fast. Commander Kyes ordered Watson and Hauer over the side and handed his life jacket to a black mess attendant who had none. Commander Kyes was never seen again.

As the ship slipped beneath the waves, her bow rose high in the air. The steam escaping from the spaces and the constant blowing of her distress horn made an eerie, haunting sound. Men swam away from her as fast as they could, dragging the injured and weak behind them. They had to escape the suction of the ship, and any secondary explosions from unsafed depth charges. Over 60 men were killed instantly by the explosions, and about 100 were now in the 43 degree water. As Schenck arrived on the scene, she could not pick up survivors. The water was infested with Group Borkum. A rain squall developed and pounded the waters. In a bold move, Commander Logsdon slowed Schenck and dropped her gig in the water with four men aboard. He gave the order to a young Lieutenant (jg), "Save as many as you can. I don't know when we'll be back. Good luck and may God be with you." With that, the gig was in the water among the survivors. Schenck pressed on to chase Borkum out of the area.

In the water, there was no officer, no enlisted man, no black, no white. They were all sailors fighting to stay alive. Afraid that, at any moment, a U-boat would surface and machinegun them all. Not only were they fighting the enemy, they were now fighting the cruel sea. One by one, they slowly succumbed to their injuries and slipped beneath the waves. The strong fought to hold on to the wounded, but their hands and arms ceased to function.

Four hours later, when day broke on Christmas Eve, Schenck returned to the site. She slowly steamed among the debris and bodies. Her crew tried to identify the dead from the names stenciled on their clothing. She pulled 59 hypothermic and injured men from the water. 97 United States sailors perished on Christmas Eve of 1943 in the icy North Atlantic.

The captain, James Ellsworth Kyes, was born in Everett, Washington on 16 April 1906 and had graduated from the United States Naval Academy in 1930. He was awarded the Navy Cross posthumously for "extraordinary heroism" during this action. There is a memorial to James Kyes erected by his Annapolis classmates at the site of the abandoned mining town of Monte Cristo in the Cascade Mountains in Washington where his family ran a hotel. The memorial sits under a large tree he planted as a young boy. There are no buildings left at the town site, only the memorial and the tree. It is a 4 mile hike to reach Monte Cristo. The road is not open to automobiles.

Also awarded posthumously was the Navy and Marine Corp Medal to Lt. (JG) Anthony Kerasotes, for heroism in connection with operations while serving as Doctor aboard USS Leary on 24 Dec. 1943. When Leary was struck and heavily damaged, Lt. Kerasotes immediately initiated medical procedures on the scores of wounded personnel. When the word was passed to abandon ship, he helped ensure the injured were transported over the side. When the final, fatal torpedo struck Leary, he was continuing his medical attention to the injured and was one of the last personnel to enter the water. While in the cold water, he helped ensure the men were all taken care of and continued to swim between groups encouraging and assisting them until he himself drowned.

In April 1937, USS Leary had become the first United States naval vessel to be equipped with search radar, which was installed by the Naval Research Laboratory. The radar set included separate antennae to send and receive in the VHF band (1.5 m). Now Leary became the third (and last) American destroyer to be sunk by a German U-boat.