11 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

11 March, 1944           1115

My dearest darling –

I’m so happy about things that I feel like shouting out loud most of the time. As a result – the house that I’m living in is in a constant state of noise, cheering, turmoil and general confusion. The other fellows think I’m crazy – but they help at it just the same.

I’m happy because I’m in love and because I know you love me. I keep telling myself how lucky I am – in these times – to be able to develop that love – even at a great distance; your cooperation and initiative have been beyond my expectations and how I can ever make up to you for it – I don’t know sweetheart. All I know is that I’ve never felt as content in my life, at a time when most soldiers are discontent. When I wrote in yesterday’s letter that it was so difficult waiting – I didn’t mean to leave the impression I was complaining. What I meant was that with someone like you waiting for me, dearest, it was difficult for me to contain myself here.

The fact that our folks have met and apparently get along makes me very happy – and to have arranged it was a wonderful thing on your part. You’ve got courage, spirit and confidence – and I admire those qualities in a woman. I can well imagine that you were nervous; I’d have been too. It’s a natural reaction. But with me away in addition – you must be a natural diplomat to have done so well – and you no doubt will make an excellent doctor’s wife. Let me tell you too, darling, that that is very important – because I know of cases where a doctor’s practice has suffered due to his wife’s ability to bungle things up in general. I need not fear on that account – anyway.

You mention that rumor has it that we’re pretty well set – you and I – and since that is so – it is not a smear. I don’t care who knows it; I want everyone to, and when we’re engaged, everyone will! There doesn’t seem to be any doubt at all in my mind that we will be soon, too, and that fact makes me happy. God – if only I could have been around longer! But God has been kind to us – and we must be thankful for that fact. I’d have been a much different man than I am now – had I not met you, sweetheart. Instead of an empty existence, my life – though I’m at war – is very full – of plans, of the future – of us.

I so hope that our folks get along and will continue to do so. I want them to – see no reason why they shouldn’t. I’ll say this for both sets – they showed a broadmindedness in meeting each other – with me away – that is extremely commendable and admirable. I think your folks were swell to invite mine over and then to visit my folks. The situation was – after all – unusual, and to go through with it – is something that I’ll always be indebted to them for.

Greg's parents (1949)


Wilma's parents (1946)

Anyway – Sweetheart – as I see things from here – everything is going along in the right direction – and it ought to continue the same way. My life is yours and will be so for always. Of that I’m certain. No one can mean anything to me but you, and my every plan is now our every plan. That has been so for some time now – but I must keep telling you that. A moment of the day never goes by without the thought of you on my mind – as to what you’re doing, thinking, saying etc. I picture you with me so often – that in reality – it’s sometimes powerful when I awake and find that I have to wait awhile for the full realization of that experience. But I know I can do it with ease, for I love you, darling, with every faculty that I possess – and believe me – that’s a lot. You shall be my fiancée, then my wife – and then my constant and lasting sweetheart and companion.

I’ll have to stop here, darling, but I’ll write tomorrow. Best regards to your folks – whom I’m growing to love more and more. Until later –

All my deepest love

Greg

10 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

10 March, 1944       1400

Dearest sweetheart –

My lips are sorer right now than they’ve been for several months. Now! Now! Don’t you go jumping at conclusions, darling. It is not due to kissing! This morning I went into the neighboring towns and of all things – I bought a clarinet; price – second hand, good wood, fair condition – 10 pounds or $40.35. I hope you don’t think I’m crazy, dear. I’ve had so much time to myself and I get so lonesome at times – I got to thinking about it and decided it might help while away some hours. I have just spent the past one and one-half hours blowing, pushing, squeaking and swearing – and I’m ready to leave the thing alone for the rest of the day. But it did feel good to run up and down the scales and squeak through a few tunes. The fingering is a little bit different on this clarinet – so I’m having a little fun finding the notes; no neighbors around to interfere – so what do I care?

Sweetheart – in one of your letters you mentioned hearing a good many things about me from my mother. I don’t doubt you’ll learn lots about me from her that you wouldn’t from me – but remember, darling, she’s prejudiced and I’m not the angel she must make me out to be. She does love me, though, like no mother I know likes her son; certainly more so than any of my friend’s mothers like their sons – as far as I’ve been able to see. And I shall always appreciate it, I know, because I realize how much she means to me – although – as is usually the case, I don’t believe I’ve ever told her in so many words.

And so you’re afraid I might possibly be ungentle with you, dearest! Now – you know I couldn’t be. When I asked you whether you get black and blue very easily – I was just wondering – that’s all. As for spending a week, a month or a year, darling, loving you – that suits me to a T – but we’ll spend the rest of ours lives doing that too.

And I’m so glad, dear, that you are getting fond of my mother. I knew you would though, because I thought I knew you – and I did know my mother. It’s so nice to know that you two are getting to know each other – and I prayed for that, too. I think you’ll always love her and find her the most lovable mother-in-law a girl could have. She’s so unlike others I’ve known – and I think it’s a great help to a young wife – not to be troubled with in-laws – on top of the usual problems of adjustment.

Say – that sounds interesting – your chance of being a counselor – I mean. I wonder what you’re going to do? It would probably be a pleasant way to spend the summer – but wouldn’t you be lonesome? Where is the camp, by the way?

I also found interesting your news about Gilda Jauron and Eve Holland. I remember them both very well – from Winthrop – where Stan and I met them. They were both good company and Stan – for a while – was very much “in love” with Eve; but that died the usual death, too. My having almost met you is strange, dear, isn’t it? But of course – you were only a kid, then, darling (ahem) – and – well, you know. Incidentally – I don’t seem to remember Edna and I can’t imagine what picture of Stan and me she’s got. And what’s happened to Eve? Did she re-marry?

Well – Sweetheart have I told you I loved you, recently? If not – I do !! Your only rival now is the clarinet – which is so hard to hug though. I miss you, darling, so very much and will never be really happy until I have you with me all the time. Gosh, dear, we’ll be happy together – and it’s so difficult to wait.

So long for now, darling and

All my love is yours

Greg

Regards to everyone

Love

G.

* TIDBIT *

about Clarinet Inspiration
from Benny Goodman

playing "The World is Waiting for the Sunrise" in 1942



By the way, that performance was no fluke!
Here he is again, playing "The World is Waiting for the Sunrise" in 1980

09 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

9 March, 1944        1400

My dearest darling Wilma –

I spent so enjoyable an evening last night – just reading your letters and dreaming, that I couldn’t help wondering why I ever went to London, when I could be happier reading your letters as they arrived from day to day.

They were as sweet a group of letters as I’ve received at one time – and my happiness, darling, is something I just never experienced before. One thing I must make clear, though, and that is that I’m the lucky one in this combine, more so than you – because in you as my wife-to-be I have as sweet and lovable a girl as any fellow ever wished for.

Your ability, desire, and energy, Sweetheart, in arranging for my folks to meet yours was admirable and I’m fortunate to have a darling who cares enough for me to want to see things develop – even though times are difficult. And it would be so easy – with false modesty – not to want to do what you’ve done. That’s why I admire and love you, dear – because you’re so sincere and honest, and I know you’ll always be so.

I read with understanding your balancing between what you’d like to do, dear, and what perhaps better wisdom tells you to do. I haven’t had the chance to talk things over with anyone. I’ve written my folks but haven’t heard from them as yet – although I know right well what they’ll say. You implied how my mother felt when you told her of our planning. I’ll grant you though that it’s different with a boy than with a girl – and I can readily understand how a girl’s parents might feel a bit hesitant. You went from “let’s wait” to “let’s not wait” – all in one letter darling. And I feel terrible about the fact that when something as big as that happens to a boy and girl – that they can’t be together to talk things over and enjoy the thrill that the discussion might bring. But these are such unusual times, sweetheart and everything is different. I tell myself though that to have been able meet you, love you and have you love me is more than I deserve – and so rather than feel cheated, dear, I feel that fate has handled me very kindly. I love you as strongly as I know how and I have never felt surer of anything than I feel about us.

Well – what to do then? I too would love to be present to put a ring on your finger – not for the ‘show’, darling, but for the symbolism. Will you be any more mine with a ring? I don’t think so – and yet I want to feel that you really are my fiancée. I want you to feel that you’re free to tell everyone about us. I know it will be unusual – but it can be announced formally and I don’t have to be present physically.

I’m not going to be stubborn, darling, because there’s no point to it. If the weight of opinion indicates the opposite – well – we’ll see, dear. Of course I don’t mind your discussing it with your immediate family and relatives. I’m glad that they think enough of me not to think you foolish for wanting to be engaged to me. It shows broadness on their part and I certainly appreciate it and hope that their judgment of me won’t be found lacking. I know I can be very fond of all of them.

I’m going to have to stop writing now, darling, because about 16 things have turned up since I started writing this letter. One of them is a rather badly cut right index finger which I’m going to repair soon. The fellow is being prepared now. Several things have changed since I was on Leave – nothing radical, just some changes in policy in the battalion. Also I’m behind in some of our records and I’m going to catch up on that tonight. Incidentally, concerning your various guesses about our outfit, dear, – don’t worry, everything is all right and will be. All you need is faith and that will carry us both through I know.

So long for now – my darling. You make me very happy and I know you’ll always be able to make me so. I’ll write tomorrow. Meanwhile – All my love is yours for always,

Greg

Best regards to the family.

Love,

G.

08 March, 1944

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

8 March, 1944

Dearest Sweetheart,

Well back at last and safely and glad to be back too, dear. I didn’t expect to write today because I thought I’d be back too late – but here I am. I’ve already noticed that I have about seven letters, darling, dating from about February 14th to the 25th – so I’m looking forward to some pleasant reading material soon. I just wanted to get this off in time for the outgoing mail.

I’ll soon change into my field clothes again and get comfortable. I’ve had enough of a big city for awhile and shall be content to stay around camp.

Yesterday I merely went to the movies (D. Durbin in ‘His Brother’s Sister’) and finally saw the Wax Exhibition – and it was all they said it would be – amazingly true to life.

All for now, sweetheart – will write tomorrow. Regards to everyone and

All my love for now

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Tussaud's Wax Museum


Madame Tussaud in wax

From the Madame Tussaud's website comes this:

The life of Madame Tussauds’ founder was as colourful as any of the celebrities who have been posed for the world famous attraction in its illustrious 200 year history. Here is a timeline of her life:

1761: Madame Tussaud is born Marie Grosholtz in Strasbourg. Her mother worked as a housekeeper for Dr. Philippe Curtius, Switzerland, who was a skilled in wax modelling. Curtius taught Tussaud the art of wax modelling.
1777: Models the famous author and philosopher, Francois Voltaire.
1780: Becomes art tutor to King Louis XVI’s sister and goes to live at the Royal Court in Versailles.
1789: On the eve of The French Revolution, Marie returns to Paris.
1793: Imprisoned with her mother in the notorious Laforce Prison, Paris. On her release she is forced to prove her allegiance to the Revolution by making death masks of executed nobles and her former employers, the King and Queen.
1794: The French Revolution ends and Marie inherits Dr Philippe Curtius’ wax exhibition.
1795: Marie marries Francois Tussaud.
1802: Madame Tussaud takes her exhibition on tour to the British Isles, leaving behind her husband.
1835: With her sons, Madame Tussaud establishes a base in London at The Baker Street Bazaar.
1850: Madame Tussaud dies
1884: Marie’s grandsons move the attraction to its current site on Marylebone Road.

In an article in Time magazine, 25 October, 1943 entitled Art: Taps for a Tussaud, the death of John Theodore Tussaud, her great-grandson, fills out the timeline in this way:

As it must to all men, death came in England last week to John Theodore Tussaud (pronounced Tuss-so'), 86, great grandson and successor to Madame Marie Tussaud, who brought the famed Tussaud waxworks from Paris to England in 1802.

The London blitz damaged but did not destroy the Tussaud museum on Marylebone Road. In the ruinous days of September 1940, a bomb blasted two of the museum's rooms into reportedly picturesque and possibly symbolic confusion: Hitler lurched on his beam-ends, his head chipped to its core. Göring's resplendent tunic was ripped to shreds and his countless medals strewn on the floor. Goebbels lay on his back, staring at nothing. But firm and unshaken, the blue eyes of Winston Churchill gazed blinkless at the scene.

Tussaud's had its beginning in the French Revolution. The original Mme. Tussaud, born Marie Grosholtz of Swiss parents, was an accomplished modeler in wax. She was friend, companion and teacher to Louis XVI's sister and lived at court at Versailles, where she knew the great personages of the period. After the Revolution her realistic waxwork was in great demand. She modeled many of the Terrorists from life, sometimes willingly, sometimes under protest. Once she was forced to reproduce the freshly guillotined head of a Royalist. A Royalist at heart, she watched for a chance to leave France.

Meantime, the shrewd, energetic woman realized that she was shaping a fine commercial asset in wax. In 1802 she got to England with many of her images intact, [and] put them on exhibition. She added more, taught her children how to model and how to manage. Her venture was plagued by riot, shipwreck and fire. But before her death in 1850 at 90, Marie Grosholtz Tussaud had made an institution of her exhibit in London's Baker Street, first permanent home of the collection. Succeeding Tussauds have carried on. The fingers of at least one member of the Tussaud descendants have always been trained to model in clay and wax. The "Mr. John" who died last week was such a craftsman. Like the founder, he ran the establishment efficiently: four hours after Rudolph Hess dropped into Scotland, his correctly costumed effigy was on display at Tussauds. Mr. John leaves the museum to his son, Bernard Tussaud: the waxworks will go on. And, as for generations, English children and their nurses will make straight for the Chamber of Horrors.

Madame Tussaud's life story is filled out here:

07 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

7 March, 1944       1100

Dearest darling Wilma –

Today is four months since I last saw you, talked with you, kissed you. Actually a third of a year has slipped by, sweetheart, and yet I’m not impressed with the time interval, probably because I feel I’ve gotten to know you so much better during these past few months. In other words – what has happened, dear, is what I wanted to happen – not a big lapse by my leaving, but a normal development of our affection. I hope darling, that you feel the same way. How many more months it will take before I can fulfill my affection – the Lord alone knows, but as they say in the Army, dear – I can sweat it out and I’m counting on you.

Well – here it is the last day but one of my leave. Tomorrow, dear, I’ll be heading back and so I probably won’t get a chance to write. With this letter, darling, I will have written you five times out of my seven days, which isn’t bad considering traveling. The fact is – I just don’t feel right unless I do write you a few lines.

Yesterday, Sweetheart, I headed for the Strand – which is this City’s equivalent of the show district in New York. On the way – I passed Fleet St. which is a famous old street where most of the newspapers in England are printed. I finally got to the Aldwych theater where the Lunts were playing. There was a sign saying advance sale only – but I got into the queue and calmly asked for a seat for that night. I was amazed when I was offered a ticket in the 14th row – orchestra – which they call the Stalls. The price, by the way, was 13 – 6 or about $2.70. The first balcony – which they call Dress Circle and which for some ridiculous reason is considered the best seat – be it for Symphony, movie or theater – costs 22 shillings – or $4.40.

The play started at 1715 – all the shows here start very early evening to allow people to get out by 2000 or so – so that they can get home before any trouble starts. About the play – it was Robt. E. Sherwood’s “There Shall Be No Night” – and Sweetheart, it was superb. I believe it played in N.Y. but it must be appreciated much more here where people have suffered more – from the horrors of war. The dialogue was excellent – and I don’t see how anyone could have done better with it than Lynn Fontaine and Alfred Lunt. The theme deals with the Greeks in Athens right before the Italians and then the Germans marched in to ruin things.

Now – today, dear, I have yet to see the famous Wax Museum and I definitely plan to take that in this p.m.

I’m anxious, darling, to get back to Camp because I know there must be a few letters waiting for me, from you. I’ll probably be busy the next couple of weeks – because Charlie goes on his leave as soon as I get back – and then our dentist goes, so I’ll have to travel around a bit to keep things covered.

I wonder how things are with you darling, and your folks – and everything. I just can’t tell you in words, dear, how much you’ve come to mean to me in my every thought and plan of the future. You’ve become so much an integral part of me that I wonder what being here – without knowing and loving you – would have been. I’m glad I don’t have to know the answer to that. All I know is that I love you so very much that I’m able to live in the future, darling. The present would be very bleak to fall back on – believe me. I’ll close now, Sweetheart. Best regards home and you have –

All my love

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Aldwych Street and a V-1 Rocket


The Aldwych Theatre

Greg mentioned being in line for tickets to see the Lunts perform in There Shall Be No Night at the Aldwych Theatre. It was still playing on June 30th, when the following story of a V-1 blast at Aldwych Street unfolded, as told in an excerpt from “The Secret Fire” by Martin Langfield (© 2009). The excerpt in the book is based on eye-witness accounts, official reports and contemporary photographs. Some of the original source material for the book came from a website called "BBC's WWII People's War."

The London air raid sirens howled.

The V-1 tore across southern England at over 350 miles per hour, faster than almost anything the British could put in the air against it, skipping past the barrage balloons’ steel cables that were intended to tear off its wings, outpacing all the efforts of the anti-aircraft gunners to traverse their guns fast enough to blow it out of the sky.

On Aldwych, at the eastern end of the Strand, dozens of people queuing outside the Post Office on the ground floor of Bush House looked skywards. Girls on their lunch break at the Air Ministry at Adastral House opposite, sunbathing on the roof, hurriedly covered up.

In the basement of Australia House, just east of the post office, an Australian Mustang pilot named Alan Clark cued up a shot at the snooker table, oblivious of the looming danger overhead.

Double-decker buses let passengers on and off, lined up just east of Kingsway on the semicircular Aldwych kerb.

A black silhouette against the brilliant blue summer sky, the V-1 began its final dive over South London, somewhere above Waterloo Station, the mechanical growl of its pulse-jet engine suddenly cutting off.

The V-1 Rocket can be seen in this picture

Then the dreadful silence as it fell. In the East Court of Bush House, alarm bells rang inside the building, indicating ‘enemy action imminent’. Fourteen year old Derrick Grady and his friends from the post room at the BBC’s Foreign Service, returning to work at Bush House after spending their lunch hour fooling around by Cleopatra’s Needle, saw the dark shape disappear behind the buildings in front of them. They threw themselves to the ground.

Several young women inside the Air Ministry massed at a window, trying to get a look at the ‘ghastly thing’. Some bus passengers tried to take cover. Others in the bus and post office queues trusted to luck or God, resignation and indifference in their faces, knowing that if they heard it explode, they would probably still be alive. Helplessly, they watched it fall towards them.

A young woman at the Air Ministry, chatting with a colleague in their boss’s office, saw the flash of the explosion reflected in her friend’s eyes, a split-second before the deafening blast hit them. The V-1 fell in the middle of the street between Bush House and Adastral House, the home of the Air Ministry, at 2:07 p.m., making a direct hit on one of the city’s main loci of power, the site of the Aldwych holy well, directly on the London ley line. Brilliant blue skies turned to grey fog and darkness.

The device exploded some 40 yards east of the junction of Aldwych and Kingsway, about 40 feet from the Air Ministry offices opposite the east wing of Bush House. As the Australian serviceman took his snooker shot, the plaster ceiling in the basement of Australia House fell in on the table in front of him. The Air Ministry’s 10-foot-tall blast walls, made of 18-inch-thick brick, disintegrated immediately, deflecting the force of the explosion. Hundreds of panes of glass shattered, blowing razor-sharp splinters through the air. The Air Ministry women watching at the windows were sucked out of Adastral House by the vacuum and dashed to death on the street below. Men and women queuing outside the Post Office were torn to pieces. Shrapnel peppered the facades of Bush House and the Air Ministry like bullets.

A double-decker approaching Aldwych reared up like a frightened horse, settled for a brief moment, then veered over at an angle of 45 degrees, first to one side, then to the other. The roof of the bus in front peeled back, as if cut by a giant tin-opener. The other double-deckers waiting on Aldwych were shattered, their red bodywork ripped to pieces, their passengers torn apart. Australia House’s great glass dome shattered, fragments smashing down into the vestibule. Broken panes from all the damaged buildings fell like sleet into the street.

The blast wrecked the facade of the Aldwych Theatre on the corner of Drury Lane, killing an airman at the box-office window as he was buying a ticket for that night’s performance of the anti-totalitarian play There Shall Be No Night by Robert Emmet Sherwood, starring Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontaine.

Outside Adastral House, a heavy door flew off its hinges, crushing the doorman standing outside. The blast killed all the sunbathing women on the roof of the Air Ministry. Dust and smoke spewed everywhere.

Part of the casement of the bomb lay burning at the corner of Kingsway. The dead and dying lay scattered in the street. Groans and cries of pain filled the air, though many could not hear them, deafened by the concussion. Some of the victims were naked, their clothing blown from them by the blast.

Aldwych was covered in every direction with debris and broken glass. Banknotes blew in the breeze. A private car stood shattered near the twisted remains of an emergency surface water tank, its 11,000 gallons dispersed, the steel sheets of its walls blown apart. People walked around dazed, blood pouring from wounds some didn’t know they had, the crunch of broken glass under their feet ubiquitous. One woman walked down seventy-nine steps of an Adastral House stairwell to the street, not realizing her right foot was hanging sideways, feeling no pain, stepping over bodies.

Staff and guests from the nearby Waldorf Hotel ran to help. Ambulances and fire engines sped to the scene. Police directed the injured to a First Aid post in the basement of Bush House, casualties receiving treatment for the next three hours. Still it was not safe. One man stepped from a doorway after the blast and was sliced vertically in two by a sheet of falling glass. A news editor of the Evening Standard who came upon the scene couldn’t take his eyes off the trees. Their leaves had all been replaced by pieces of human flesh.

Alan Haylock, a Reuter's office boy, who’d been on one of the double-deckers, running to help, came across a middle-aged woman sitting on the pavement, propped up against a shop front, her face deathly white, cuts all about her face and neck, one shoe missing and her stockings torn. She had auburn hair and was still clutching her handbag. He bent down to see if he could help her. Then a voice behind him said: ‘There’s nothing you can do for her, chum. She’s gone. Died about two or three minutes ago.’

Soon the junction of Kingsway and Aldwych was a sea of stretchers, the occupants all dead. Experienced ambulance workers worked in quick and practised drills to remove the dead and seriously hurt. When the counting was done, about fifty people were killed, 400 seriously wounded, another 200 lightly injured.

The photos included are from the Imperial War Museum. To hear audio of a V-1 attack, click here.)

06 March, 1944

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

6 March, 1944

Dear Sweetheart,

There’s nothing much to write you about my leave, dear. It’s fast disappearing, but I don’t mind too much. You know – there’s something nice about Camp – 3 meals a day, warm quarters, field clothes, etc. I wonder if I’ll mind being dressed up all the time after the war.

Yesterday, darling, after lunch I went down to the place where the London Symphony plays its Sunday concerts – and damned if I didn’t get in. I was really surprised. The concert was excellent – but the inevitable tea was served during the intermission. These English are really whacky when it comes to tea.

In the evening I went to eat at the Trocadero – which has as good food as can be attained. The best I could do was roast pigeon. It wasn’t too bad. Today I’m going to the Wax Museum and I’m also going to try to get to see “This Time, It’s Here” (good title, huh!) – a comedy that is advertised as having played in Paris and N.Y. I don’t remember it – but it might be worth it. That’s all for now, sweetheart, except to say that I love you and have been very lonesome for you on this leave.

All my love,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Royal Albert Hall

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE

Royal Albert Hall, London

When Greg went to see the London Symphony Orchestra, they were performing at the Royal Albert Hall. From Wikipedia:

The Hall was originally supposed to have been called The Central Hall of Arts and Sciences, but the name was changed by Queen Victoria to Royal Albert Hall of Arts and Sciences when laying the foundation stone, as a dedication to her deceased husband and consort. The Royal Albert Hall is one of the UK's most treasured and distinctive buildings, recognizable the world over.

The Hall was designed by civil engineers Captain Francis Fowke and Major-General Henry Y.D. Scott of the and built by Lucas Brothers. The designers were heavily influenced by ancient amphitheaters, but had also been exposed to the ideas of Gottfried Semper while he was working at the South Kensington Museum.

Royal Albert Hall under construction in 1868

The dome on top was made of wrought iron and glazed. There was a trial assembly made of the iron framework of the dome in Manchester, then it was taken apart again and transported down to London via horse and cart. When the time came for the supporting structure to be removed from the dome after re-assembly in situ, only volunteers remained on site in case the structure dropped. It did drop - but only by five-eighths of an inch.

The official opening ceremony of the Royal Albert Hall was on 29 March 1871. After a welcoming speech by Edward, the Prince of Wales, Queen Victoria was too overcome to speak, so the Prince had to announce that "The Queen declares this Hall is now open". A concert followed, when the Hall's acoustic problems became immediately apparent. These were not properly tackled until 1969 when a series of large fiberglass acoustic diffusing discs (commonly referred to as "mushrooms" or "flying saucers") were installed in the roof to cut down the notorious echo. It used to be said that the hall was the only place where a British composer could be sure of hearing his work twice.

The hall is an ellipse in plan, with major and minor axes of 272 feet (83m) and 238 feet (72m). The great glass and wrought-iron dome roofing the hall is 135 feet (41m) high. It was originally designed with a capacity for 8,000 people and has accommodated as many as 9,000. Modern safety restrictions mean that the maximum permitted capacity is now 5,544 including standing in the Gallery).

Inside Royal Albert Hall

Around the outside of the hall is a great mosaic frieze, depicting "The Triumph of Arts and Sciences", in reference to the Hall's dedication. Proceeding counter-clockwise from the north side the sixteen subjects of the frieze are: (1) Various Countries of the World bringing in their Offerings to the Exhibition of 1851; (2) Music; (3) Sculpture; (4) Painting; (5) Princes, Art Patrons and Artists; (6) Workers in Stone; (7) Workers in Wood and Brick; (8) Architecture; (9) The Infancy of the Arts and Sciences; (10) Agriculture; (11) Horticulture and Land Surveying; (12) Astronomy and Navigation; (13) A Group of Philosophers, Sages and Students; (14) Engineering; (15) The Mechanical Powers; and (16) Pottery and Glassmaking.

Frieze around Royal Albert Hall

Above the frieze is an inscription in one-foot high terracotta letters. This combines historical fact and Biblical quotations:

This hall was erected for the advancement of the arts and sciences and works of industry of all nations in fulfillment of the intention of Albert Prince Consort. The site was purchased with the proceeds of the Great Exhibition of the year MDCCCLI. The first stone of the Hall was laid by Her Majesty Queen Victoria on the twentieth day of May MDCCCLXVII and it was opened by Her Majesty the Twenty Ninth of March in the year MDCCCLXXI. "Thine O Lord is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty. For all that is in the heaven and in the earth is Thine. The wise and their works are in the hand of God. Glory be to God on high and on earth peace."

From the Royal Albert Hall's website came this:

The list of famous performers and world figures who have appeared at the Royal Albert Hall since it opened in 1871 is unrivalled. Wagner, Verdi and Elgar conducted the first UK performance of their own works on its concert platform, Rachmaninov played his own compositions and nearly every major classical solo artist and leading orchestra has performed at the Hall.

The list of popular music artists includes Frank Sinatra, Liza Minnelli, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Oscar Peterson, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Eric Clapton, Sting and Elton John and from a younger generation Jay Z, Kaiser Chiefs and the Killers.

Among leading world figures who have spoken at the Hall are Her Majesty The Queen, Sir Winston Churchill, Nelson Mandela, His Holiness The Dalai Lama and former President of the United States of America, Bill Clinton.

Each year Royal Albert Hall hosts more than 350 performances including classical concerts, rock and pop, ballet and opera, tennis, award ceremonies, school and community events, charity performances and lavish banquets.

Click here for a virtual tour of Royal Albert Hall.

05 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

5 March, 1944        1045

Sunday morning

Wilma – darling –

Good morning! And how are you dear? The medium of even letter communication is wonderful – for not having read a letter from you for some time now makes me realize how much they help to keep us in close contact.

My leave is now more than half gone and I haven’t really done a thing – except to get hungry, I guess. You just can’t get anything to eat in a restaurant – no matter how good or bad. They call their food by fancy names, but it doesn’t help the quality or quantity. Incidentally – practically every menu is in French and before long I may get to know something about them. Another thing about English restaurants and hotels – the waiters are always dressed full-dress, no matter how small or unpretentious the place. It’s almost ridiculous to walk into a small, sometimes shabby eating place and have the waiter appear with white-tie and tails.

Yesterday, Sweetheart, I didn’t do very much except wander around some more. One thing struck me as I window-shopped and walked through the department stores – and that was the price of women’s clothes. Hats range from three guineas upwards. (A guinea is $4.25) What looks like a simple little frock made out of some kind of wool crepe, I presume, sells for 20 guineas; but sweaters that go with a skirt sell for 2 and 3 guineas. I don’t know how women can buy any clothes at such prices and I can understand now why so many of them are dressed so shabbily.

As I started to say, dear, I got up late yesterday and decided to hunt up a Chinese restaurant – just so my stomach would seem full – even for 2 hours. I finally did eat at one and then went down to Piccadilly to look around. I noticed one theater was showing Luise Rainer in ‘Hostages’ which must have played in the States some time ago – but I decided to see it anyway. It wasn’t too good, I thought. The suspense was well created in a couple of scenes – but there wasn’t much room for dramatic presentation – which is what I expected from Rainer. She looked terrible in it – as a matter of fact.

When I got out – I sought out the Army Post Office so that I could mail the letter I had written you earlier. In the evening I looked for a decent place to eat and found a Russian restaurant with excellent food. It tasted more nearly like home cooking than anything I’ve had since I left home. I then came back here and after having a couple of rums – went to bed.

Today I haven’t the vaguest idea of what I shall do – but it really doesn’t make much difference, darling. I’m only marking time. The last time I heard from you, dear, was your V -letter of February 14th. You mentioned my folks – and your folks – and visits etc. – and you can well imagine, sweetheart, how much I’ve been thinking about all that and wondering how everything is working out. I shan’t rest peaceful, dear, until I can really call you my fiancée and I’m just waiting until I hear from you – the go ahead signal.

Meanwhile, darling, I’m sitting tight but my love isn’t; it just keeps on growing and growing and I can’t and don’t want to do anything about it. It’s a wonderful feeling which I know you share, too.

I’ll stop for now, dear, and I’ll write again. I hope all is well with you and your folks. Send them my fondest regards – and for now – so long and

All my love

Greg

* TIDBIT *
about Luise Rainer

CLICK ON PICTURE TO ENLARGE

Oscar Homolka, Luise Rainer and Arturo de Cordova
in a publicity still for Hostages (1943)

From the Alt Film Guide Blog comes this:

Because of both her longevity and the fact that Turner Classic Movies now shows nearly all of her films with a certain regularity, the Dusseldorf-born (some sources say Vienna) Rainer is probably better known today than at any time since the 1940s, when she last starred in a Hollywood production, the minor Paramount resistance drama Hostages(1943).

Before this current revival, Rainer was best remembered as the two-time Oscar winner with a four-year film career (1935-1938), while her acting was generally dismissed as several notches below sub-par. In fact, to many she served as one of the prime reminders of the unworthiness of the Academy Awards.

As the oft-told story goes, when Raymond Chandler got himself all worked up about his Oscar prospects in the mid-'40s, his wife told him not to take those things so seriously: "After all, Luise Rainer won it twice."