18 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

18 February, 1945      0910

Germany

Dearest sweetheart –

It’s comparatively quiet here right now. Most of the boys are at services (Catholic) and the sick boys haven’t come in as yet. There are only periods in a day, darling, and often I’m not ready myself.

This Sunday it’s raining – but a mild gentle type of rain like the rain we have in Boston – March and April. It’s still hard to believe that winter can be over here – but this month is slipping by fast – unless March is a tough month. We had quite a snowstorm the 31st of January, I believe, with the snow piled up quite high. The next day it started to rain – and it didn’t stop until all the snow had gone. I have never seen anything quite like it. You can imagine how mucky things were. Unlike New England – instead of freezing, it just stayed warm – and it hasn’t been cold since.

Everything around here is pretty quiet and the only subject of conversation is that about the various passes and leaves that are being issued. At the moment – leaves to the States just aren’t available. This battalion gets a small quota every now and then of leaves and furloughs of 7 days to England. We’ve had one officer go so far – the lucky stiff. He’s married to a nurse who’s stationed there. I may have mentioned the fact before. Her outfit arrived in England a little ahead of ours and we were never more than 50 or 60 miles apart. And now he gets a chance to go back to see her. The passes are 3 day affairs to Paris or Brussels and we average about 1 officer and 5 E.M.’s about every 10 days or so. As you know, dear, I haven’t drawn any one of the 3 possibilities. I’m not very interested in England – but I would like to get to Paris or Brussels for 3 days – just to get away from here for a short while. I had 3 days off in October or November – and it did me a lot of good. You just can’t imagine, darling, how monotonous things get when you’re technically on duty seven days of every week There just aren’t any half days, Sundays or Holidays. One day is so much like the one that passed. And it’s been 8 months of that.

Darling – you’ve asked me a few times now to send requests to you so that you can send something to me. Honestly, dear, I appreciate it – but I don’t want you to bother. I don’t like to ask for things – and anyway I don’t need a thing I can think of. Now, now – don’t get angry with me, sweetheart – I’ll ask for something at the bottom of this letter – but I can’t be specific because I just can’t think of anything I need. Damn it – yes I can!! I’ve lost about 8 face cloths since landing on the continent and I had to borrow one – the one I’m using now. Sooo – would you please send me a face cloth, dear – and I don’t care what color it is! And if you can get a piece of yourself into the package – please send that!! I’ll love it to death – and send it back and you can spread it – but hell – that’s pretty silly talk – for a grown man – now isn’t it, dear? Well – I get pretty silly now and then – they call it ETO-happy over here – and everybody is infected with the germ. And the only vaccine for it is in the States and the reason we can’t get it is because every soldier has a different type. For example, sweetheart – my type is embodied in you and I’d get no results whatsoever from any other type. What to do about it? I guess I’ll just remain disease-ridden until I get the right treatment – and I do hope it comes soon!

I’ll have to stop now, dear. It’s getting noisy again – as usual – and I've got a couple of things to do. I hope all is well at home, darling, and that you’re managing to keep your chin up. Love to the folks, dear and

All my deepest love –

P.S. Would you please send me a Greg package including in it – a face cloth?? Thanks!!

Love

G.

17 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

17 February, 1945       1120

Germany

Dearest darling, Wilma –

Today it’s air-mail day again. I know how you dislike V-mail but occasionally it just can’t be helped. From what I read though, it does seem as if V-mail is consistently ahead of air-mail, but if you don’t mind the delay – I’d rather write this type anyway. I’m a verbose sort of person and I always feel so damned confined when I start writing on a limited surface. Goddamit – I’ll be glad when I don’t have to resort to writing at all when I want to say something to you, dear. I get fed up too with this being apart – just as you are. I got 4 letters yesterday from you, sweetheart, the middle of January – and you really sounded tired of it all. And I can’t blame you one bit, dear. I know it has been a longer harder task than you ever dreamed of. I guess it had everyone fooled though. And with people telling you it wasn’t so smart getting engaged or wondering how you can be so strong as not to date – it must be even more difficult. At least that’s one thing I don’t have to put up with. I have no other choice right now than to continue being a soldier, dear.

And that brings up the subject of some remark I made once about my preferring to “stick it out” until it was all over. Apparently, Sweetheart, that upset you – and I’m sorry I put it that way. But that was farthest from my mind. I was just trying to counter-act some of your surrounding influences. You see, dear, you’re with ARC, you hear and know of returning veterans, you get data of one sort or another about being able to come home in this or that number of months. Well – over here it’s entirely different. We’re told we’re not even considered for rotation until 24 mos. of overseas duty, we see the war poke along – and there just doesn’t seem to be any point in trying to fool you. That’s why I wrote I’d like to stick it out. God – girl I’d give anything to get home – but it would have to be honorably done – and if I have to come home paralyzed – or for some other permanent disability, I’d rather not come home at all. Do you think I like it over here, do you think I’m a hero, do you think I like to think about you at home with little to do except worry about me? No – I don’t like it one bit, darling; I don’t think you can be any more anxious for me to get home than I am – but, dear – I just can’t do a damn thing about it – it seems. I went to the Army Surgeon a long while ago – hoping I would get changed around some way – to get out of this rut I’m in. Now I’m afraid to try again because I might jeopardize my long standing with a line outfit. One way or another – when the time comes I’m bound to get credit for being with a front-line battalion on continuous combat duty. So I’m sticking out a situation which at times becomes so unbearable from boredom and inactivity – I could go mad – just on the one hope that I’ll get home to you a shade earlier than another M.C. I suppose you could say I was unhappy – after reading all that. But I’m just not the unhappy type, darling; I don’t like to think that war has made me so. Let us say – it’s a damned unhappy situation – and when I’m out of it – everything will be all right. Perhaps this is an example of what you meant when you wrote I could talk myself in or out of situations. If so – dear – I’m glad I have that ability – and I’m sorry for those fellows over here who don’t have it.

Yes – I’ll stick this through – but only until the first gleam of hope – the first possible opening shows itself for me to come home. Then I’ll work every conceivable way to get the hell out of here. But until that time – I’m going to do my job and try to stay well doing it, too.

Sweetheart – excuse the tirade – but it’s just the way I felt and I had to get it off my chest. I feel better now. In case you can’t see thru all my frustrations – you can blame it on the fact that I’m deeply in love with you and it drives me crazy to think of us as apart rather than a man and wife. Love to the folks, dear –

And all my everlasting love –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Iwo Jima, LCI(G)-449 and Rufus Herring

While the Armies in Western Germany were lining up along the Roer, preparing for its crossing and the push toward the Rhine, the Navy was two days from its invasion of Iwo Jima. From the book "Iwo Jima" by Eric Hammel, published by Zenith Press in 2006, comes this extract, found on pages 53-55:

CLICK TO ENLARGE PICTURES

LCI(G)-449 is the 3rd gunboat away approaching Iwo Jima

On 17 February 1945, at about 0800 hours, twelve wooden-hulled minesweepers approached to within 750 yards of the eastern beaches of Iwo Jima to begin a methodical search for mines as well as to check for reefs, shoals, and manmade underwater obstacles undisclosed by aerial reconnaissance. Japanese atop Mount Suribachi opened fire on the minesweepers with small arms.

At 0840 on February 17, three battleships and numerous fire-support vessels moved to within 3,000 yards of various sectors around Iwo to provide close-in support of another foray by a team of frogmen. Japanese whose big guns had remained silent to that point opened fire as the ships and gunships came within pointblank range. The battleship USS Tennessee was struck off southeastern Iwo by one round a little before 0900. Four sailors were injured but the damage was negligible. Within thirty minutes, as the cruiser USS Pensacola approached within 1,500 yards of the northeastern shore to support the minesweepers, one Japanese 150mm gun crew opened fire on her, splashing their first round only 50 yards short of the ship. The cruiser attempted to evade, but the gunners knew their job and managed to fire six rounds into her within three minutes. Seventeen officers and men were killed (including her executive officer) and 120 were wounded, her combat information center was knocked out, an observation plane on her starboard catapult was set aflame, and she was hulled in several places. For all that, as repair parties fanned out throughout the ship, the Pensacola's guns ceased firing only as required during the course of delicate surgeries on a number of her wounded.

Although the plucky minesweepers were dogged throughout their mission by gunfire from the island, they drew off only when their mission was completed. They found no mines and no under water obstructions.

At nearly 1100 hours, a hundred swimmers from four Underwater Demolition Teams (UDTs) entered the water to make a final check of the invasion beaches for underwater obstacles and to get a close-up sense of the tide and surf. They were to destroy any obstacles, natural or manmade, that they could find. The frogmen were covered by fire from twelve LCI(G) gunboats firing 20mm and 40mm guns and LCI(R) rocket ships firing clusters of 7.2-inch bombardment rockets as well as 20mm and 40mm guns. The LCIs closed to within 1,000 yards of the shore as the swimmers approached the beach and opened fire. All but one frogman had returned to their destroyer-transports by 1220 to report that the beaches were clear of mines and obstacles, and beach and surf conditions were reported as favorable.

Many Japanese who watched the LCIs open fire thought the invasion was about to begin – how could they think otherwise, after all the other action that morning? - and, in direct contravention to their commanding general's orders and oft-stated wishes, they took to defending the beaches. Heavy guns overlooking and backing the landing beaches reached out to the LCIs over a period of 45 minutes. All twelve vessels were hit, some brutally, but even after drawing off to quench fires and succor the wounded, several LCIs nosed back into the toe-to-toe brawl, their crews unwilling to concede anything to the Japanese. The cumulative loss to the LCIs was 7 killed and 153 wounded.

One of the gunboats to earn the Presidential Unit Citation for operations at Iwo Jima that day was LCI(G)-449. While shelling enemy positions in support of the UDT swimmers, the ship was heavily damaged by Japanese counter-fire and went out of control. LCI (G) 449 had all 40 mm guns disabled and battled two fires caused by three large caliber hits. Twenty-one men were killed and twenty were wounded.

Casualties being taken off LCI(G)-449

Her skipper, Lieutenant Rufus G. Herring, would receive the Congressional Medal Of Honor. Here is his citation:

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as commanding officer of LCI(G)-449 operating as a unit of LCI(G) Group 8, during the pre-invasion attack on Iwo Jima on 17 February 1945. Boldly closing the strongly fortified shores under the devastating fire of Japanese coastal defense guns, Lt. (then Lt. (j.g.)) Herring directed shattering barrages of 40mm and 20mm gunfire against hostile beaches until struck down by the enemy's savage counter-fire which blasted the 449's heavy guns and whipped her decks into sheets of flame. Regaining consciousness despite profuse bleeding he was again critically wounded when a Japanese mortar crashed the conning station, instantly killing or fatally wounding most of the officers and leaving the ship wallowing without navigational control. Upon recovering the second time, Lt. Herring resolutely climbed down to the pilothouse and, fighting against his rapidly waning strength, took over the helm, established communication with the engine room, and carried on valiantly until relief could be obtained. When no longer able to stand, he propped himself against empty shell cases and rallied his men to the aid of the wounded; he maintained position in the firing line with his 20mm guns in action in the face of sustained enemy fire, and conned his crippled ship to safety. His unwavering fortitude, aggressive perseverance, and indomitable spirit against terrific odds reflect the highest credit upon Lt. Herring and uphold the highest traditions of the U.S. Naval Service.

Rufus G. Herring

The following photo was taken twenty minutes before LCI(G)-449 headed into Iwo Jima to support the UDT swimmers on 17 Feb, 1945. PH3/c Leo McGrath volunteered to be aboard to take photos of the pre-invasion mission. Almost thirty minutes after taking this photo he was killed by enemy batteries hidden in the caves of Suribachi. He only took two photographs and this was one of them.

16 February 1945

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

16 February, 1945

Germany

Good Morning, Sweetheart –

Here goes your pet hate – a V-mail – but I haven’t overdone it – have I? If I don’t get this off now – I know I’ll not get a chance to write. Damn it – the boys are playing “There Goes That Song Again” on the Vic. We just got it the other day and I like it – but it’s sad. I don’t know how old it is but it must have been fairly high on the Hit Parade.

Here is a clip of "There Goes That Song Again," from "Carolina Blues."

Last nite we saw “Doughgirls” with Jane Wyman, Ann Sheridan et al. We were in the mood for that type of comedy and enjoyed it a lot. The weather here continues to be beautiful and yesterday was so mild you could walk around without a jacket – and the sun was out all day. I rode over to a nearby city and took some pictures of the destruction. I had been there before but it was always cloudy.

[CLICK TO ENLARGE PICTURES]


This was supposed to show why Aachen was called the
City of Churches - but the camera couldn't quite make it.
You can just barely see the many steeples.


Near Aachen. If you look closely you can see the words
HITLER JUGEND. This was a special school for Hitler youths.


Aachen - 1200 yr old cathedral -
where Charlemagne was coronated.


Aachen Cathedral Today


Aachen 1945. This is solid cement-walled "BUNKER" where people
lived for days in terrible conditions. Many of these thru Germany.


Former famous hotel, then German HQ - now a wreck.
Aachen - February 1945


Hotal Quellenhof - Today


Aachen - German Aid station, tank, and cross-section of
an apartment house.
Most of Aachen is like this - a result of RAF.

Got a letter from Lawrence of Feb 4 yesterday and was glad to read he got a hosp. job. That should keep him around for a few months anyway. And darling – I haven’t told you that I love you hard because you’re the sweetest girl in the world!! Stay that way. I’ll be back one of these days. Love to the folks and

All my deepest love

Greg

15 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

15 February, 1945       1020

Germany

Wilma, darling –

Believe it or not there’s actually a taste of Spring in the air today and woo! woo! – it looks like it’s going to be particularly tough to take this year. It was tough enough last year, dear – what are we going to do now? With all the snow and cold you’re having now – I suppose that’s far from your mind – but Spring will come to Boston and you’re going to have the same problem. And there are no pills for that!

The sun has shone for 3 consecutive days, but the wind is still with us and probably will be for some time. Yesterday was a reasonably quiet day. In the p.m. we had an officers’ meeting with most of the line officers coming in. There were a lot of administrative details to discuss and the meeting lasted from 1400 to 1630. It was good seeing the fellows again – we get together so seldom. And in the evening we had a movie – “Carolina Blues” – with K. Kayser, Ann Miller etc. It was class B but the music was good and I enjoyed it. This p.m. I’ve got to go to Corps Surgeon’s office on a little business – but that isn’t much of a trip.

I got a laugh out of what you wrote some time ago about my being called “Doc”. I laughed because I’ve never liked that either. It’s just unavoidable, I guess, and some people persist in using it – although I think I get away with it more than most. A good many don’t know what to do about it. I’m glad you like my name, sweetheart, because someday you’ll be able to tack “Mrs.” In front of it – and you can call me anything you like – I’ll come!

And that reminds me – you once wondered if I would find it difficult becoming a civilian again – and would I be rough, swear at everyone, gamble and tell dirty stories. Concerning the dirty stories – I haven’t heard one since coming overseas, although I knew my share before entering the Army. I never liked gambling and I don’t now – so you’ll have no trouble on that score; swearing? I’m pretty good at that – but I think I can reserve it for the right time. And I don’t think I’ve become rough. No – I think I’ll come back pretty much the same as when I left. Oh – you’ll have trouble with me all right! I’ll be forever kissing you until your lips get sore; I’ll be forever hugging you until your ribs ache; I’ll be in your way constantly – and I’ll have to be dragged out of the house for months to come. Outside of that, sweetheart, I believe you’ll find me easy to get along with.

You know, darling, I never did thank you for your really swell letter written New Year’s Eve – before you went out. I know how you felt – but there just wasn’t anything to do about it. And I’m glad you did go out, too. Your letter was warm and sincere and I’ve read it over and over again. I can’t say very much in answer. My life is already so much intertwined with yours – you must be aware of it. I love you and what is more important, sweetheart, for all the things you are. I’ll always love you, for I know that in you I shall find reciprocated love, devotion and the keen desire for life that I have always striven for.

That’s all for now, darling, except – send my love to the folks and best regard to the girls at the office.

All my everlasting love –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about "Carolina Blues" (1944)


Ann Miller and Kay Kyser

Greg mentioned seeing "Carolina Blues" and judged it as a "Class B" movie. Here is a review from The New York Times, written by Bosley Crowther and published on 8 December, 1944 and titled "The Screen / Very Blue."

CLICK TO ENLARGE

And transcribed:

The so-called pride of Rocky Mount, N. C., Kay Kyser, is advertising himself and his home town again in Columbia's so-called musical picture, "Carolina Blues," which came to Loew's State yesterday. And the way he is doing it this time is by playing at leading his band in a series of war-bond rallies to raise money for a cruiser, Rocky Mount. As the prop for these musical sessions there is nonsense which passesfor a plot wherein Victor Moore and Ann Miller pursue Mr. Kyser in search of a job. And that is "Carolina Blues," neighbors. It is likely to leave you depressed.

As usual, Mr. Kyser rather boldly monopolizes most of the screen as band leader, patriotic citizen and dashing Lothario. His performance of each personality is more awkward in that order. Mr. Moore is faintly amusing as several frumpy, elderly folks, and Miss Miller is virtually brushed off as the lady pursuing Mr. K. There are agonizing moments when a character called Ish Kabibble tries to clown, and some comparably painful exhibitions by bleak-looking male soloists. One song number, "Mr. Beebe," done by Harold Nicholas and a Negro troupe, rates a high grade for peppiness and satire. And "There Goes That Song Again" is good. But the rest—well, they're on the same order as the picture, which is pretty grim.

Here is a clip of Mr. Beebe, with dancers
Harold Nicholas and Josephine Baker:

This synopsis of the movie came from a former listing on the Turner Classic Movies web site.

When Kay Kyser and his band, including singer Georgia Carroll, return from a long USO tour, the exhausted musicians look forward to their vacation, while Georgia plans her upcoming wedding to an Army officer. Their publicist, Charlotte Barton, does not give them time to rest, however, for she immediately takes them to the Carver shipyards. Despite the band's grumbling, they put on a good show, and Kay is entranced by the singing of Julie Carver (Ann Miller), the daughter of Phineas J. Carver (Victor Moore), whom Kay mistakenly assumes is the owner of the shipyard. However, ne’er-do-well Phineas Carver is the one poor relation in an otherwise fabulously wealthy family that includes Elliott, Hiriam, Horatio, Aunt Martha and Aunt Minerva — all of whom are also played by Victor Moore, giving this otherwise pretty ordinary movie a unique appeal.

Anxious to be married, Georgia urges Kay to replace her with Julie, but Kay mysteriously declines. On his way back to the hotel, Kay meets an old chum, Tom Gordon, the newspaper editor in Kay's hometown of Rocky Mount, North Carolina. Tom asks Kay to return home to put on a bond rally, so that Rocky Mount can buy a destroyer. Carver suggests holding the show in New York, where they can raise enough money for a cruiser, not just a destroyer, and Kay tries to trick the band members into agreeing. They see through his scheme, but as they are stuck in New York due to transportation shortages, acquiesce. Georgia is annoyed at having to postpone her wedding, however, and during the show, arranges for Julie to substitute for her. Julie is a big hit, much to the delight of her father and the chagrin of her wealthy, snobbish relatives.

Kay is furious about the trick and yells at Julie for trying to ruin the show. When Georgia questions him about why he is refusing to hire Julie, he states that as a rich girl, she would have no commitment to a real career. Georgia passes on the information to Julie and Phineas, unaware that they are only pretending to be rich to make a good impression on Kay. In reality, they are the poor Carvers and are continually borrowing from their relations. Kay then travels to Rocky Mount, where the townsfolk hold a banquet in his honor. During the festivities, however, Kay learns that because the bonds from the New York show were sold in New York, they cannot be credited to Rocky Mount. Devastated by the news, Kay schemes to get the band to his hometown for another show by sending them urgent telegrams that lead them to believe that he is on his death bed.

Again, they quickly see through his ruse, but agree to put on the show as they are already in Rocky Mount. The bond sales do not go well though, and it does not look as if there will be enough for a destroyer until Julie and Phineas arrive. Believing that he can get Phineas to purchase the required amount of bonds, Kay gives the singing job to Julie. She goes out with him that night in order to obtain a contract, but the moonlight works its magic and the couple fall in love. Unable to deceive him any longer, Julie tells Kay the truth about her finances and tearfully runs off with Phineas the next morning. Phineas has a plan of his own though, and summons his relatives to Rocky Mount. That night, as Kay puts on the show, Phineas blackmails his relatives into buying enough bonds so that the town can obtain its destroyer. Julie goes to the auditorium to present the check to Kay, who quickly reconciles with her and shares the good news with the crowd.

14 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

14 February, 1945       1000

Germany

My dearest sweetest Valentine –

I hope you’ll excuse me for neglecting you – I so enjoyed the Valentines you sent me, dear – and I felt terrible that I hadn’t been able to send you at least one. You’ll just have to understand that Valentines were farthest from all our minds about the time they should have been sent out and they were unobtainable, anyway. I hope, though, that you received some notice of the day from me.

The Germans don’t know about Valentine’s Day, it seems, and so the War goes on with no display of hearts and flowers. We’re not making the news these days, darling, but believe me when I say that for some of the boys the fighting and the horrors of war are just as bitter as if we were making the headlines.

Yesterday was a dull, boring, long day – and I was glad when it was over. It seemed to drag more than even other slow days. I did manage to get over to a bath-house they have in this city and soak in a tub for about an hour – and then I took a shower. Boy! That’s really something. When we were in this city last – the place wasn’t open. Since then it was taken over by an American outfit which employs German laborers and they draw the water for the tub and clean up after you. When we first got here we all took 3 baths in a row to soak some of the dirt off us – it really was a relief.

I came across a letter of yours written 26 Dec. You had been to a party and had met a Bob Sherman and a Herb Almtuck. I believe I remember the Sherman boy. I can’t understand why he’s not in the service. As I remember him – he was a harmless enough sort of fellow and not overbright. I don’t know the other guy. He must have been in another class although he’s right about Leo Waitzkin. We were very friendly at Harvard and at Tufts although I’ve lost track of him since the war. He was doing Public Health work in Virginia when I last heard from him. He was quite an English scholar, by the way and got a Summa Cum and Phi Bet at Harvard for writing a brilliant thesis in his senior year on some obscure details about Shakespeare’s early days. It attracted the attention of Kittredge at the time.

I’m glad and happy, darling, that you can meet so-called eligible young men and not feel that you’re wasting your time waiting for me. I hope and feel certain you won’t be sorry. If you can still feel that way – that’s the test, I guess. I haven’t had a similar opportunity – although we did meet quite a few people in England. Needless to tell you again, sweetheart, you’re the girl for me and no one else will do!! I love you so deeply and earnestly – I don’t believe I’ve ever really been able to convey to you how much – and I left too darn soon to be able to show you. You must believe me, sweetheart, when I tell you that I love you more than anything or anyone in the world and from the day I knew we were engaged – my entire vision of my future life became centered on you. You’ll never doubt that either – when I get back and show you what I mean –

All for now, darling, got to do a couple of things. Love to the folks – and

My deepest love is yours –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Personal Accounts of
The Bombing of Dresden

Here are a few personal memories of the bombing of Dresden. The first is from the list of stories on 384th Bomb Group Heavy website. The last two are from survivors of the bombings.

Jules Levison (Radio/gunner) describes the mission in this extract:

I was not scheduled to fly but Jerry Jerome's brother decided to get sick, so I had to fly in his place. I was kind of sore at first but later on was glad. Russ Holtz also flew on the crew and the pilot was Lt. Russell E Carlson.

At the request of the Russians, the target was Dresden as the Germans were sending a lot of traffic through that town. We hit the Marshaling Yards with eight 500GPs and two M-17 incendiaries. The Germans say that all we did was kill a lot of evacuees but personally it wouldn't surprise me to find out that we knocked out a locomotive or two.

On the way in we had to fly over the Zuider Zee, which is the home of Herman and his 4 guns. Herman is a German stationed on the Zuider Zee who fires his 4 guns at you when you fly over. He was a Corporal and one day he actually shot down a plane and they made him a Sergeant. Well, they must have made him a Staff because he got a plane in the group ahead of us. We saw it go down in a tight spin and only saw one chute open. It wasn't a pretty sight.

On the way home our gas was getting low so after much discussion we decided to land in Brussels, Belgium. I sent in a message to Combat Wing that we were landing there so we wouldn't be MIA.

We had quite a time in Brussels until our money ran out. Night clubs, clean sheets, good food, etc. We were there four days. On the second day the weather cleared and we could have taken off but the pilot was in town drunk. The next day we were all set to take off, there were 19 men in the plane as we were taking back a crew that had crashed. Everybody had a bottle of beer and the pilot was running up the engines with one hand and drinking beer with the other.

Here is an excerpt from a 1999 eye-witness account by Lothar Metzger, a survivor of the bombing:

About 9:30 pm the alarm was given. We children knew that sound and got up and dressed quickly, to hurry downstairs into our cellar which we used as an air raid shelter. My older sister and I carried my baby twin sisters, my mother carried a little suitcase and the bottles with milk for our babies. On the radio we heard with great horror the news: "Attention, a great air raid will come over our town!" This news I will never forget.

Some minutes later we heard a horrible noise - the bombers. There were nonstop explosions. Our cellar was filled with fire and smoke and was damaged, the lights went out and wounded people shouted dreadfully. In great fear we struggled to leave this cellar. My mother and my older sister carried the big basket in which the twins were lain. With one hand I grasped my younger sister and with the other I grasped the coat of my mother.

We did not recognize our street anymore. Fire, only fire wherever we looked. Our 4th floor did not exist anymore. The broken remains of our house were burning. On the streets there were burning vehicles and carts with refugees, people, horses, all of them screaming and shouting in fear of death. I saw hurt women, children, old people searching a way through ruins and flames.

We fled into another cellar overcrowded with injured and distraught men women and children shouting, crying and praying. No light except some electric torches. And then suddenly the second raid began. This shelter was hit too, and so we fled through cellar after cellar. Many, so many, desperate people came in from the streets. It is not possible to describe! Explosion after explosion. It was beyond belief, worse than the blackest nightmare. So many people were horribly burnt and injured. It became more and more difficult to breathe. It was dark and all of us tried to leave this cellar with inconceivable panic. Dead and dying people were trampled upon, luggage was left or snatched up out of our hands by rescuers. The basket with our twins covered with wet cloths was snatched up out of my mother's hands and we were pushed upstairs by the people behind us. We saw the burning street, the falling ruins and the terrible firestorm. My mother covered us with wet blankets and coats she found in a water tub.

We saw terrible things: cremated adults shrunk to the size of small children, pieces of arms and legs, dead people, whole families burnt to death, burning people ran to and fro, burnt coaches filled with civilian refugees, dead rescuers and soldiers, many were calling and looking for their children and families, and fire everywhere, everywhere fire, and all the time the hot wind of the firestorm threw people back into the burning houses they were trying to escape from.

I cannot forget these terrible details. I can never forget them.

Here is another extract from the memory from a survivor in the city, Margaret Freyer.

The firestorm is incredible, there are calls for help and screams from somewhere but all around is one single inferno.To my left I suddenly see a woman. I can see her to this day and shall never forget it. She carries a bundle in her arms. It is a baby. She runs, she falls, and the child flies in an arc into the fire.

Suddenly, I saw people again, right in front of me. They scream and gesticulate with their hands, and then — to my utter horror and amazement — I see how one after the other they simply seem to let themselves drop to the ground. (Today I know that these unfortunate people were the victims of lack of oxygen). They fainted and then burnt to cinders.

Insane fear grips me and from then on I repeat one simple sentence to myself continuously: "I don't want to burn to death". I do not know how many people I fell over. I know only one thing: that I must not burn.

Finally, an extract of what Edda West, in the April 2003 "Idaho Observer", wrote of this eye-witness account from a woman named Elisabeth. Elisabeth, who was a young woman of around 20 at the time of the Dresden bombing, has written memoirs for her children in which she describes what happened to her in Dresden. She was in her late 70’s at the time of her writing. First she sought shelter in the basement of the house in which she lived. Her story continues..

Then the detonation of bombs started rocking the earth and in a great panic, everybody came rushing down. The attack lasted about half an hour. Our building and the immediate surrounding area had not been hit. Almost everybody went upstairs, thinking it was over but it was not. The worst was yet to come and when it did, it was pure hell. During the brief reprieve, the basement had filled with people seeking shelter, some of whom were wounded from bomb shrapnel.

One soldier had a leg torn off. He was accompanied by a medic, who attended to him but he was screaming in pain and there was a lot of blood. There also was a wounded woman, her arm severed just below her shoulder and hanging by a piece of skin. A military medic was looking after her, but the bleeding was severe and the screams very frightening.

Then the bombing began again. This time there was no pause between detonations and the rocking was so severe, we lost our balance, and were tossed around in the basement like a bunch of ragdolls. At times the basement walls were separated and lifted up. We could see the flashes of the fiery explosions outside. There were a lot of fire bombs and canisters of phosphorous being dumped everywhere. The phosphorus was a thick liquid that burned upon exposure to air and as it penetrated cracks in buildings, it burned wherever it leaked through. The fumes from it were poisonous. When it came leaking down the basement steps somebody yelled to grab a beer (there was some stored where we were), soak a cloth, a piece of your clothing, and press it over your mouth and nose. The panic was horrible. Everybody pushed, shoved and clawed to get a bottle.

I had pulled off my underwear and soaked the cloth with the beer and pressed it over my nose and mouth. The heat in that basement was so severe it only took a few minutes to make that cloth bone dry. I was like a wild animal, protecting my supply of wetness. I don’t like to remember that.

The bombing continued. I tried bracing myself against a wall. That took the skin off my hands – the wall was so hot. The last I remember of that night is loosing my balance, holding onto somebody but falling and taking them too, with them falling on top of me. I felt something crack inside. While I lay there I had only one thought – to keep thinking. As long as I know I’m thinking, I am alive, but at some point I lost consciousness.

The next thing I remember is feeling terribly cold. I then realized I was lying on the ground, looking into the burning trees. It was daylight. There were animals screeching in some of them. Monkeys from the burning zoo. I started moving my legs and arms. It hurt a lot but I could move them. Feeling the pain told me that I was alive. I guess my movements were noticed by a soldier from the rescue and medical corps.

The corps had been put into action all over the city and it was they who had opened the basement door from the outside. Taking all the bodies out of the burning building. Now they were looking for signs of life from any of us. I learned later that there had been over a hundred and seventy bodies taken out of that basement and twenty seven came back to life. I was one of them – miraculously!

They then attempted to take us out of the burning city to a hospital. The attempt was a gruesome experience. Not only were the buildings and the trees burning but so was the asphalt on the streets. For hours, the truck had to make a number of detours before getting beyond the chaos. But before the rescue vehicles could get the wounded to the hospitals, enemy planes bore down on us once more. We were hurriedly pulled off the trucks and placed under them. The planes dived at us with machine guns firing and dropped more fire bombs.

The memory that has remained so vividly in my mind was seeing and hearing humans trapped, standing in the molten, burning asphalt like living torches, screaming for help which was impossible to give. At the time I was too numb to fully realize the atrocity of this scene but after I was “safe” in the hospital, the impact of this and everything else threw me into a complete nervous breakdown. I had to be tied to my bed to prevent me from severely hurting myself physically. There I screamed for hours and hours behind a closed door while a nurse stayed at my bedside.

I am amazed at how vivid all of this remains in my memory. It is like opening a floodgate. This horror stayed with me in my dreams for many years. I am grateful that I no longer have a feeling of fury and rage about any of these experiences any more – just great compassion for everybody’s pain, including my own.

The Dresden experience has stayed with me very vividly through my entire life. The media later released that the number of people who died during the bombing was estimated in excess of two hundred and fifty thousand – over a quarter of a million people. This was due to all the refugees who came fleeing from the Russians, and Dresden’s reputation as a safe city. There were no air raid shelters there because of the Red Cross agreement.

What happened with all the dead bodies? Most were left buried in the rubble. I think Dresden became one mass grave. It was not possible for the majority of these bodies to be identified. And therefore next of kin were never notified. Countless families were left with mothers, fathers, wives, children and siblings unaccounted for to this day.

13 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

13 February, 1945     1100

Germany

My dearest darling Wilma –

I was literally overwhelmed yesterday when I received 18 letters in the mail, the biggest haul in a long while and it was truly wonderful. Furthermore – quite a few were recent letters – particularly from you. I also – in addition to 5 letters from you – heard from several friends of mine in the service, the Salem Hospital, Steve L., Bea Caplan, Mary W., Lil Zetlan, Dr. Curtis from Salem and a couple of others I can’t think of – off hand. It’s the best reading material in the world and nothing makes me feel better or raises my morale more successfully, dear.

Your letter written to me on my Birthday, sweetheart, was wonderful and it was awfully decent of the girls to take the trouble to jot me separate notes. I know you’ll thank each of them for me, dear. You know by now that I did, in fact, have a Birthday and that your surprise worked as successfully as if I were home. I was completely dumb-founded by it and it was certainly original.

You mention an interesting point about my age, darling, namely that you didn’t believe I was 31 when you met me until you saw my draft card. That’s probably because I act so silly at times. I know only that I don’t feel or act differently now than I did six or eight years ago and I think I’ll behave the same for some time to come, probably. That reminds me to mention something you’ve brought up in a couple of your recent letters which sounds a bit mysterious to me; mysterious isn’t the exact word. You wrote in one letter that you would get something for Eleanor and then let me know how much I owe you for her gift and the Levine’s. Then you said I wrote some strange things at times and you couldn’t exactly understand me. In another letter you wonder whether I am affectionate enough a person to match your affection – and you doubt it; and still another place you write that you think I have the power to talk myself in or out of almost any situation – in an almost impersonal fashion.

Now – dear – is there one thing troubling you or three – or are all the same thoughts inter-connected? I’d much rather you wrote what’s on your mind, sweetheart. We know each other much too well now to have an argument over an exchange of ideas – or in an attempt to know each other better. I honestly don’t know if I’ve changed since I went away – it’s easier for others to say it. I don’t think I have. I have undoubtedly the same peculiarities, good and bad that I always had. But in reference to you I’m positive I love you, sweetheart. I’ve never lost the thrill in knowing I’m engaged to you and in the thought I’m going to marry you. My affection or ability to be affectionate I’ve never wondered about. If it’s not as open as some people’s, dear – I’m sure I compensate with depth and sincerity – which is of prime importance and more lasting, I think; and that is not to imply that I’m entirely devoid of the more obvious kind; just wait and see. I don’t know what you have in mind about my power of speech, darling. I think I think clearly most of the time – but I’m often wrong. If I think something, I try to express it as clearly as I know how – for what I believe in I believe in fully.

If I’m strange, dear – I honestly don’t know how – unless I have some peculiarities you’re just finding out. But I do wish you’d tell me about them rather than have me wonder. We’re attempting to keep stride with time and the war by knowing each other as much as possible while I’m away – thereby shortening our period of waiting when I get back. I suppose I write things at times that don’t sound right to you or reveal some characteristic of mine you weren’t aware of. If so, sweetheart – tell me about it – will you? I want you to know me completely as I’m trying to know you, too.

I’ll have to stop now, darling. It’s nearly chow time – and Pete just came in, by the way, and sends his love. I told him some time ago about my Birthday cake and he got almost as big a kick out of it as I did. Love to the folks, regards to the office crew – and

All my love is yours for always

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about The Bombing of Dresden
and Frauenkirche

CLICK TO ENLARGE PICTURES

It was on 13 February 1945 that Allied planes began the bombing of the German city of Dresden in World War II. At the beginning of the war, both Hitler and Churchill vowed that they would not attack civilian targets. But the German’s broke their promise and used incendiary bombs on London, and Great Britain quickly followed suit. By 1943, the British had begun firebombing cities like Hamburg, creating firestorms that reached 2,700 degrees Fahrenheit, with hurricane-force winds, which boiled all the water in the city and sucked all the oxygen out of the atmosphere, killing tens of thousands of people. The Allied military commanders argued that saturation bombing of German cities was the only way to force the Nazis to surrender.

Before World War II, Dresden was called "the Florence of the Elbe" and was regarded as one the world's most beautiful cities for its architecture and museums. Although no German city remained isolated from Hitler's war machine, Dresden's contribution to the war effort was minimal compared with other German cities. In February 1945, refugees fleeing the Russian advance in the east took refuge there. As Hitler had thrown much of his surviving forces into a defense of Berlin in the north, city defenses were minimal, and the Russians would have had little trouble capturing Dresden. It seemed an unlikely target for a major Allied air attack.

On the night of February 13, hundreds of RAF bombers descended on Dresden in two waves, dropping their lethal cargo indiscriminately over the city. The city's air defenses were so weak that only six Lancaster bombers were shot down. By the morning, some 800 British bombers had dropped 1,478 tons of high-explosive bombs and 1,182 tons of incendiaries on Dresden, creating a great firestorm that destroyed 15 square miles (39 square kilometres) of the city center and killed numerous civilians. Later that day, as survivors made their way out of the smoldering city, over 300 U.S. bombers began bombing Dresden's railways, bridges, and transportation facilities, killing thousands more. It was one of the most controversial actions of the Second World War, rocking the historic core of that great European city and reducing irreplaceable masterpieces to ash and rubble. A total of 3,900 tons of high-explosives and incendiary devices were delivered in four air raids carried out by 1,300 bombers.

The Allies claimed that by bombing Dresden, they were disrupting important lines of communication that would have hindered the Soviet offensive. This may be true, but there is no disputing that the British incendiary attack on the night of February 13-14 was conducted also, if not primarily, for the purpose of terrorizing the German population and forcing an early surrender. It should be noted that Germany, unlike Japan later in the year, did not surrender until nearly the last possible moment - when its capital had fallen and its Fuhrer was dead.

Because there were an unknown number of refugees in Dresden at the time of the Allied attack, it is impossible to know exactly how many civilians perished. After the war, investigators from various countries, and with varying political motives, calculated the number of civilians killed to be as little as 8,000 to more than 200,000. Estimates today range from 35,000 to 135,000. Looking at photographs of Dresden after the attack, in which the few buildings still standing are completely gutted, it seems improbable that only 35,000 of the million or so people in Dresden that night were killed. Cellars and other shelters would have been meager protection against a firestorm that blew poisonous air heated to hundreds of degrees Fahrenheit across the city at hurricane-like speeds. A funeral pyre was built that burnt for five whole weeks.

But from the rubble, a triumph - the re-building of Dresden's Baroque icon, Frauenkirche, as decribed in these excerpts from an article on a site that was called "Repost", and in a excerpt from a YouTube video, below:

An 11th century church site is the foundation of Frauenkirche, or the Church of Our Lady. Despite its name, this is a Protestant place of worship built between 1726 and 1743. The dome is called the Steineme Glocke, or Stone Bell, rises 96 meters/315 feet above the altar. It is an engineering marvel and the anchor to the city’s skyline. Johann Sebastian Bach, from nearby Leipzig, performed a concert on its new organ.

On 13 February 1945, temperatures of 1,000 C/1,832 F surrounded Frauenkirche, collapsing the dome. Miraculously, the altar was spared.

Post-war East Germany chose not to repair Frauenkirche, believing the ruins symbolized Western atrocities. In 1989 a determined group of Dresden citizen’s formed the “The Society to Promote the Reconstruction of the Church of Our Lady.” This grassroots organization grew to thousands of German citizens with donations from all over the world, including Great Britain.

The most challenging part of the quest was creating a jigsaw puzzle out of the rubble. All of the rocks at the site were categorized. Divers searched the depths of the Elbe for more pieces of Frauenkirche. 8,500 of the original stones joined millions of others in the rebuilding. Typically German, the original architectural plans survived. From them and photos came three-dimensional models. No drawing existed for the elaborately carved entrance doors. Undeterred, the re-builders requested old wedding pictures from the residents of Dresden. From the photos the doors were replicated. Seven new bells were cast for the Steineme Glocke. Frauenkirche reopened on 30 October 2005, over 60 years after it collapsed.

Here is that YouTube video:

12 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

12 February, 1945      0945

Germany

Dearest darling, Wilma –

Shall we chalk up Lincoln’s Birthday as another Holiday we owe each other – or shall we just let it ride? You know what? – I’m going to let you decide that all by yourself – and don’t let me ever hear you say I’m not fair and square about things! I don’t suppose it’s much of a Holiday in Boston either – and boy! Oh boy! Are you ever getting the snow! I guess about the one nice thing the Army has done for me has been to keep me out of three tough New England winters. We had a b–h of a January here but it started raining about the 31st and in 3 days of February the snow and cold disappeared – and fingers crossed – it’s been mild, though rainy, ever since. If it would only dry up a bit!

And what do you think – Yesterday I got a letter from you written on the 30th of January. That’s wonderful and entirely unusual. But you chided me for the type of letter I wrote or had written to you recently because they were cheery and you thought I was fooling you. Well, sweetheart – I’ve still got you fooled. You wrote – “Now that I know” – and I’d like to know dear, what do you know now? I’m sure you haven’t yet grasped the difference between being very lonely for home, fed-up with the Army, being utterly blue – and – being uncomfortable, being cold, being shelled, being raided. The two sets of reactions don’t necessarily go together, sweetheart – and very often don’t, because when the latter of the two conditions exist – you just don’t have the time to be lonesome. I write you blue letters, dear – not often, I’ll admit – but often enough. The fact is I am not a mope by nature and I don’t stay that way long. I force myself to be cheerful – and after a half hour or so goes by – I do actually feel better. It may be that at such times – I’m writing to you – and my cheeriness doesn’t seem real – but it isn’t, darling, because I’m trying to impress you – but rather that I’m trying to impress myself. Is that confusing? Anyway, dear – I’ll be hard to change –

1300

Hello again – darling!

Sorry I had to leave you so abruptly this morning – but I was called away because of some developments in that civilian trial. When the case was referred to a higher court – the defendant was returned to jail. It was my contention that the wrong person was being tried and that the defendant should at least be released until the next trial. Well today I was notified that she was released – so I’ve won a partial victory. I’ve been told that the civilians who were at the trial couldn’t understand how the lawyer for the accused was wearing a Red Cross on his arm. That had them all mixed up, dear – but I had some fun anyway.

I couldn’t for the life of me think of any Jewish girl I knew in Salem who is now a Wave – but I didn’t know a heck of a lot of them. I know a couple of Ensigns – but they’re not Jewish. And what do you mean – “Never can tell – I may live there some day”. We certainly will, dear unless something much better turns up for us before then. Right now I’d say Salem was our best bet.

You must really feel tough with all these married couples chasing around from city to city having good times – Irv and Verna, Nancy and Abbot, Betty and Stan – and a few others you mention from time to time. All I can say, darling, is that married to you or not – I’d have sweated out the war harder at home than I am here – and I know what I’m writing. I could never have been thoroughly happy in the realization of what some are putting up with and my taking it easy. Or maybe it’s lack of realization that allows some of these people to live with themselves. I excuse artists or talented people. All others, it seems to me, could be doing something towards helping this war. No, darling, don’t be envious of the trips and the parties that some of your friends are having. We’ll have ours too – and we’ll really enjoy them and be able to hold our heads high. Because I’ll bet that secretly – these same couples – have just a slight enough amount of conscience to detract from a full enjoyment of what they’re doing. I may be wrong, of course, but I think not. I know only that I love you and want to be with you as soon as possible. But when that time comes – we want to feel that we did our part when there was a part to do – and I honestly think we are.

Well – so much for the flag waving, sweetheart, which I don’t do too often – I hope. I’ll have to do a little work now – so I’ll be with you again tomorrow. All my love to you, sweetheart – and remember always that I love you more than anyone else in the world.

Yours for always,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about The Fuel Crisis

In May 1941, even while the US was not yet in the war, Roosevelt appointed Interior Secretary Harold Ickes to the additional position of Petroleum Coordinator for National Defense. Becoming once again the nation’s top oil man, or Oil Czar, Ickes had to turn around an industry that was coping with surplus to one that would maximize output and avert shortage. He had a huge liability as the oil industry detested him from previous encounters. While he had come to their aid in 1933, he subsequently had become very critical of the industry. Mobilizing the oil industry into one giant organization under government direction had been done quickly and efficiently in Britain but turned out to be different and difficult in the United States. Ickes however managed to work closely and pragmatically with the industry and succeeded in disarming the hostility and ensuring effective cooperation.

Harold L. Ickes

Harold Ickes’ hand was strengthened when he was promoted to Petroleum Administrator for War (PAW) from Petroleum Coordinator, while still Secretary of the Interior. Even as PAW, Ickes realized that unlike the case in Britain, coordinating unity among the many competing US forces (Congress, the Administration, the companies, the press etc.) in the United States was very difficult. He managed to gradually establish an effective government-industry partnership and sought antitrust exemption from the Justice Department. The U.S. was producing 514,000 barrels per day of 100 octane fuel by 1945 compared to 40,000 barrels per day in 1940. In fact, between December 1941 and August 1945, the Allies consumed 7 billion barrels of oil, 6 billion of which came from the United States.

Although there were temporary shortages, there was never a serious oil supply crisis in the United States. One such temporary shortage was described by TIME magazine, (February 12, 1945, Vol. XLV, No. 7), in this article titled "Cold Facts":

To Middle Western cities which have gone through the war in a nighttime blaze of neon lights, the brownout that went on last week was a shock. In Chicago, the usually bustling Loop was deserted; there were no long queues at theaters. In Detroit, late shopping housewives complained that they could not find stores. In Denver, barnyard lanterns blossomed on store fronts.

But no one had to be told why the lights had to go out: as civilians shivered in the coldest, snowiest, blowiest winter in years, the U.S. was smack up against a first-rate crisis in fuel.

The trouble had been on its way ever since December, when zero weather and blizzards and a manpower shortage first snarled up the overloaded railroads and disrupted fuel deliveries. The three-day embargo, clamped on all non-Government freight in the East, had helped (TIME, Feb. 5). But it was not enough. Last week, the Office of Defense Transportation clamped on another, this time for four days. Coal was the only civilian freight that could be moved.

In a wide belt from Ohio to New England, many schools were closed and offices went on shortened weeks. This did not always help. Workers celebrated their holiday by trips on already overloaded trains.

After a plea from Solid Fuels Administrator Ickes, some 65,000 miners labored underground an extra day, getting out the coal. But production dropped anyhow, mainly because there were no rail cars to haul the coal to the freezing cities. On top of this, a temporary food shortage was on the way in many an Eastern city. Freight trains as far west as California were shunted on to sidings to wait till the snarl untangled. While they waited, many a grocer cleaned out his shelves.

Trouble in the Tub. War plants were hard hit. In Pittsburgh, 200 were shut down (see BUSINESS). There was not enough heating gas for both plants and householders, so the householders got what there was.

In Detroit all plants sent workers home on an extended weekend after WPB curtailed their fuel. Then by newspaper and radio pleas they frantically tried to get them back after WPB changed its mind. Householders in Columbus, Ohio were told to cut down on their baths, flush their toilets only once a day per person so that the huge Curtiss-Wright plant would have enough water. Reason: the severe cold had kept snow from melting normally, lowered water in reservoirs.

Trouble on the Way. In New York, the rail jam was the worst. Huge drifts stalled trains in the open country. Passengers had to wade through drifts to nearby farmhouses to spend the night. State troopers went along the highway dynamiting 14-ft. drifts, clearing the roads so that emergency auto caravans could get through with feed for livestock and food for isolated villages and farms. Improvised or ancient sledges turned up in the streets.

Fuel oil was so near exhaustion in Manhattan that the Navy released 400,000 barrels to help tide civilians over. The Army chipped in with 5,000 tons of coal. Nightclubs, theaters got ready to close their doors. One theater, its coal burnt, was kept warm with loads of cordwood. But even wood was scarce.

This week there was more trouble to be met. Much of the East was lashed by a new sleet storm. There were gloomy predictions that the railroads had got so far behind that the crisis might not be completely over until April.