12 March, 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

12 March, 1944       1245

Dearest sweetheart –

We eat early on Sundays – i.e. earlier than I used to at home. As a result, I’m now back at my quarters and ready to write you. Today is raw and rainy – the first in about 2 weeks. The fire feels good – it’s nice and quiet and everything is fine.

Last night at 0030 I received 3 letters from you, one from Mary, one from Barbara Tucker and Mrs. Tucker and one from Eleanor. Every now and then mail will come in at a very strange hour – but typical of the Army – it is sorted out then and there and delivered. The lights were all out, I was in bed – so I read by flashlight. We use a flashlight a great deal in the country, dear. You have to or you’ll get lost. Blackout in England is of course severe. Before dark, we put up wooden covers over our windows. It’s now quite routine and will seem peculiar after the war – not to have to bother with such things.

Anyway, Sweetheart – I read your letters and enjoyed them immediately. Naturally I dozed off to sleep peacefully.

In the day before mail, I got a swell letter from your mother – and it made me very happy. She told me about having been over to my house and that she enjoyed herself. She also mentioned that my father was doing considerable hugging and kissing of you – which is ‘like son like father’ – as I see it. But best of all she asked me how I thought she was shaping up as a mother (not ‘in-law’). That was wonderful of her – to put it that way, dear. I wrote her and your dad a kind of long letter – and I guess I made myself quite clear – almost to the point of being matter-of-fact. They’ll no doubt tell you what I wrote, darling, but the sum and substance was that I told them I loved you, wanted to marry you – with their permission and wanted to be engaged – likewise with their permission. So there you are – Sweetheart. If all goes well – and I hear that there are no sincere objections – we’ll be engaged! The details – I really don’t know but probably it will involve my father’s presenting you with a ring, kissing you for me, and announcing it. That’s the way I see it from here, dear, although I admit the perspective from here is a little too far away to be satisfying.

I suppose there’s a letter in the mail now in answer to an earlier one of mine asking whether or not I should write your folks. Without waiting for a reply I wrote them and I hope they accept it. I’m just trying to save time.

Darling it seems almost too good to be true to realize that I may after all become engaged to you – and when it does materialize, I know it will be some time before I can make myself actually believe it. But I know I shall be very proud and content.

In one of your letters, dear, you say you’ll be waiting at the pier with a Rabbi. That suits me fine, although I imagine it will probably be more than just that – but not much more than that. As for getting my clothes, darling, maybe we won’t wait that long. No one knows much about demobilization – but I imagine it will take some time in the States. In that case – we get married anyway, even though I’ll still be in uniform. Oh – darling – I hope this doesn’t sound like a pipe dream. The war’s end is still beyond the horizon – and yet – end it must one fine day. May it only end sooner than we expect!

Well, Sweetheart, that’s all for now. I’ve got to write my folks. They know how I feel and what I want to do – and although I haven’t as yet had an answer to some of my more recent letters – I know what they’ll say.

This p.m. I’m going to read a copy of ‘Time’ which came yesterday (Feb. 28 issue) and then practice my clarinet. I’ve had it 3 days darling and so help me I’ve had my money’s worth. I still squeal horribly – but I’m having fun. This morning I played it awhile and dug out “You’ll Never Know – How Much I Love You” – on it – and I hope to tell you someday, darling, just how much that is. For now, solong – fondest regards to the family and to you, dear

My sincerest love

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about "You'll Never Know"

"You'll Never Know", based on a poem written by a young Oklahoma war bride named Dorothy Fern Norris, won composer Harry Warren and lyricist Mack Gordon the Oscar for best song in 1943. It was introduced by Alice Faye in the 1943 movie "Hello, Frisco" and performed again by Faye in the 1944 film "Four Jills in a Jeep," as heard here. Although the song is often credited as Faye's signature song, she never made a recording of the ballad. In later years, frequent covers of the song diminished her association with it. In 1955 it was the first song that Barbra Streisand ever recorded. Others who covered the song were Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney, Vera Lynn (above), Trini Lopez, and Bette Midler.  Here are the lyrics:

                                      YOU'LL NEVER KNOW

You'll never know just how much I miss you,
You'll never know just how much I care...
And if I tried, I still couldn't hide my love for you,
You ought to know, for haven't I told you so,
A million or more times?

You went away and my heart went with you,
I speak your name in my every prayer.
If there is some other way to prove that I love you
I swear I don't know how...
You'll never know if you don't know now.

11 March, 1944 (to her Mother)

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.

England

11 March, 1944

Dear Mrs. B. –

I got your very sweet letter of February 28th yesterday. The earlier one was waiting for me when I got back from my leave – and I can’t understand why it took so long in getting here.

I’ve been waiting to write both you and Mr. B. for some time now – about various things concerning Wilma and myself – but if it’s hard to discuss certain matters in person, believe me – it is much more difficult to do it by mail.

You know of course how happy I’ve been since meeting Wilma; you must know by now that I’ve grown to love her very deeply and sincerely. What you probably don’t know is – how much. I appreciate the understanding and broadmindedness which both you and Mr. B. have shown concerning the two of us. When I first met Wilma and went out with her, I was just another fellow. But when I continued to see more and more of her, I couldn’t help wondering what you were thinking. It would have been the most natural thing in the world to have advised her that I was – after all – a soldier, ready for overseas duty, etc., etc. – That you didn’t resent my attention to your daughter, was admirable on your part – and I shall always be grateful to both of you for it.

Wilma, I believe, loves me. She’s younger than I am and I didn’t want to put ideas into her head that both of us might be sorry for. Frankly – I thought that when I left – she might drift away from me, and understandably so. Although she is younger than I in years – she is really very womanly, and now that several months have elapsed – we are more and more having time and endurance on our side

As far as I’m concerned – she is without doubt – the girl I would like to marry when I return home, and no doubt by now you must have drawn that conclusion. Now I know the usual thing is for the fellow to approach the parents and ask permission. I don’t intend to be unusual – even though these are such unusual times. As far as we’ve gone, though, I think we’ve been quite conventional, Wilma and I – for first of all – the fellow and girl must feel sure of themselves – before they bother their parents about things.

I’m glad you met my parents and I hope you get to like them. Every son feels his parents are swell, and I’m no different. They’ve always been plain sincere folks and I love them for it. That they love your daughter should be plain to you. She certainly stole her way into their hearts – and I don’t get a letter from home that doesn’t mention her, with a blessing attached. I’m so glad that they get along so well, because I know how essential that is.

And how about my relationship with you two? Well I admit I’m rather undemonstrative – on the surface, and words of endearment don’t flow from me as they do from some fellows’ lips. However – I know you’ll find that what I do say is sincerely meant. I liked both you and Mr. B. the first time I really met you. It was in short bursts – so to speak – at first, because I remember I would barge in, help Wilma with her coat, exchange a few words – and bingo! Off we’d go. But it’s been my business in a way to draw conclusions and make up my mind. I wasn’t wrong. I grew more and more fond of spending time with all of you – and I regret we didn’t have more of it to spend together.

Well – having surveyed Wilma, myself, my parents and hers – I may have taken a lot for granted. I hope not. I hope also that you don’t resent my sort of adding things up. I merely want Wilma’s parents to realize that I’m not a fly-by-night, but that I’ve put a lot of thought into the whole matter.

I suppose I’ve sounded painfully formal so far – and yet I don’t feel so at all; but I know you’ll make allowances. The crux of the whole thing is that I love Wilma, I believe she loves me – and that I hope to marry her – with your permission. We’ve discussed being engaged – even though we hadn’t asked you your opinion or permission, – but blame it on the times. How foolish it would be to become engaged now – I honestly can’t judge from this distance. The fact is I trust Wilma implicitly – but I’m proud of her love as I hope she is of mine – and if so – and with her parents willing – I don’t really see why we can’t be formal about it. As I said earlier in this now lengthy letter – with every passing month – we have time – on our side.

I suppose I’d better stop about at this point. I sincerely hope that neither you nor Mr. B. thinks it presumptuous of me to have brought this matter up in such a way – but it’s the only way now. When I heard you had met my folks and apparently had got along, when you wrote how much my father cared for Wilma – and when you wanted to know my opinion of you – well – I just had to write now what I’d been wanting to write for a long time. The truth is I’d be proud to be able to call you ‘Mother and Dad’, believe me, and my one goal would be to make you love me as you do Wilma.

I do hope that things work out for the best. I’m praying for it – at any rate. Until later then – best regards and so long for now.

As ever

Greg

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.)