15 July 1945

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

15 July, 1945

Nancy

Good Morning, Sweetheart –

It’s Sunday again and we’re just sitting around the room and relaxing. I’ve already been down to the Dispensary, had sick-call and returned here. I haven’t bothered to shave and I feel just like slopping around and doing nothing. How I wish you were here to help me pass the time!

The French had a real celebration last nite – and as far as I know – there were no riots. Six of us walked down town last night and found there was to be a concert. There’s a lovely park here, amphitheater and shell. The concert was swell and brought me all the way back to the Charles and the Esplanade Concerts. It was over at 2215 – and then at 2245 – there were fireworks. Mobs of people were out. We then walked home – a nice evening – as evenings go.

Hatch Shell on the Esplanade along the Charles River in Boston
Then and Now

When – oh when am I going to be able to spend an evening with you, darling? I miss you so damned much, dear. No mail for a couple of days now – maybe today. All for now, sweetheart. Love to the folks – and

All my everlasting love –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about The Complete Return of Street Lights

From the beginning of the war, precautions were taken to 'black-out' all lights. This was essential as it soon became clear that most bombing raids would take place at night. It was thought that a light even from one house would be used as a target, by an enemy plane on which to drop its bombs. Each night everyone had to make sure that not one chink of light escaped from the windows and doors of their homes. Heavy curtains or blinds could be effective but some windows were simply painted over or covered with cardboard or thick paper for the duration of the war.

No one seems to have consulted the air authorities about whether blackout was really necessary. Bomber pilots found that they could navigate best at night by looking out for water, which shows up clearly from the air by starlight as well as by moonlight; so that, on clear nights, they should have been able to orient themselves without too much trouble, whether anything on the ground was lit up or not. Next to lakes and rivers, railways also showed up clearly; so did large roads.

Nonetheless, going out of their home at night, people had to remember to switch off the light before opening an outside door. Once outside, there were no street lights and what few cars, buses and lorries there were, were fitted with special headlamps that gave out very little light. Motoring, with headlights blacked out to a single narrow slit a few centimeters long, became nightmarish, except for those with exceptional night vision. Lampposts and curb edges were painted white or with luminous paint, but this did not prevent a number of deaths caused by people walking into solid objects or under the wheels of the few vehicles still running.

Night work in open air, on farms or at railway sidings had to be done with no light and in factories, nearly all with sealed windows, workers had to operate with no ventilation and only artificial lighting. The black-out was partially lifted on 17 September 1944 (coastal regions were still affected) and replaced by a "dim-out", in reality this was only a less stringent form of black-out, but it was welcomed at the time.

There were laws against allowing light to escape from buildings and by the time the black-out ended, nearly one million people had been prosecuted for breaking the black-out regulations. Most people were only fined but one man was sentenced in February 1940 to one month of hard labor for allowing light to be seen from his house. Opinion polls conducted during the war nearly always had the black-out at the top of their "most disliked inconvenience" list.

The black-out occasionally came in handy as an excuse for "wrong-doers", when a father and his son were summoned to court by the Ministry of Labor and National Service in Northumberland for being persistently late for work without reasonable excuse, the father stated that he had knocked a woman down in the black-out on the way to work (in January) and he didn't want the same thing to happen again, so he started out later; the son's excuse was not given in the account. The story was not accepted and the magistrates found both men guilty and fined them £2 each.

THE BLACKOUT IN SCARBOROUGH

Aerial view of Scarborough, North Yorkshire, UK in 2007

On 18 September 1939 the first casualties of the blackout occurred in Scarborough when 6 year old Thomas Johnson of 30 Colescliffe Road was knocked down by a passing car and broke his leg. The other was 79 year old David Dawson of 6 Hibernia Street who was knocked down by a car and suffered cuts to his head.

The blackout for the winter months usually lasted from about 5:57 pm till 7:40 am the following day. The times were always advertised in the evening paper. To help pedestrians, all curb edges, trees and other obstacles were painted with white bands, which did help to a certain degree.

By 5 November 1943 the Chief Constable was saying that the Scarborough blackout was once regarded as the best in England, but it had by this date deteriorated quite a lot. It was on 17 September 1944 that the blackout restrictions were lifted. House holders could take down their blackout curtains and shutters and use their ordinary curtains.

Starlighting, which allowed lighting to the equivalent of moonlight in the streets, had been used since 1943, but if an alert sounded the blackout had to be observed. By December 1944 more street lights were switched on but only on main streets. From Sunday, 24 December 1944 all vehicles could use their full headlights and from 15 July 1945 normal street lighting was announced. It was a year or two before electricity and gas supplies were built up enough to do the full job.

And now for your listening pleasure, "Scarborough Fair"
performed by Simon and Garfunkel

14 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

14 July, 1945     1030

Nancy

My dearest darling –

Yes – I love you on Bastille Day too. And the French are really doing this town up. Last nite there were fireworks and 4 parades – and today is the real day. So far there have been no outbreaks between the French – and our soldiers, although that possibility is still being anticipated. In one suburb of town a rumor started that girls seen out with our G.I.’s would have their hair shaved. The rumor was tracked down and found to originate with some young Frenchmen who resent the American soldiers going out with their women. So far – nothing has happened – and it probably won’t – but it gives you an idea of some other things that are occurring in France (and Belgium and Holland, too) that I believe aren’t getting into the papers. The war is hardly over and there’s no doubt in my mind that everything on this damned continent stinks. People just forget that Americans and British came over, lost their lives and limbs and gave them back their country and freedom. Now it’s very obvious that a large percentage of them resent our presence.

Oh well – I don’t know why I should be so serious about things, dear. Let’s see – oh yes – I called Frank Morse yesterday and he was really surprised to hear from me. He’s still with the 16th General Hospital and they’re a Cat. IV outfit, too. Like us, however, they have no idea when they’ll be getting home. Frank wants me to come down for a couple of days – but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. But I do plan to visit him Monday or Tuesday of next week. It’ll be nice seeing him again.

There isn’t much happening here other than that. I went to the movies last nite – saw “The Thin Man Goes Home” – same stuff – but entertaining. “The Keys to the Kingdom” is playing tonight and we may go. It’s a nice day here today and I may play tennis. I haven’t been up to the Club since I became a member. Somehow or other something has turned up each afternoon.

I’m going to have to cut this short, sweetheart. People are coming in and out this morning and I can hardly think straight. The money order I’m enclosing is for our most recent “big business deal.” I haven’t found my checkbook as yet – but it doesn’t matter, really, for I don’t have much use for it.

Darling, I love you so much – that all else I write about seems like so much trivia; but, I know you understand. I really thought ‘hard’ about you and us last night – and it would have been so wonderful to have been with you – but I can wait, darling.

All for now, so long – dear and my love to the folks.

All my deepest love is yours –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about "The Thin Man Goes Home"

This movie was the fifth Thin Man film starring William Powell and Myrna Loy as Dashiell Hammett's dapper private detective Nick Charles and his wife Nora. it was released 10 years after the first Thin Man movie. Here is the plot, as written in Wikipedia:

Nick and Nora visit Nick's parents in Nick's hometown of Sycamore Springs. The residents are convinced that Nick is in town on an investigation, despite Nick's repeated denials. However, when aircraft factory employee Peter Berton seeks out Nick and is shot dead before he can reveal anything, Nick is on the case.

An old childhood friend, Dr. Bruce Clayworth, performs the autopsy and extracts a pistol bullet. Then, when Nick searches Berton's room for clues, he is knocked unconscious by Crazy Mary, a local eccentric.

Nora's innocent purchase of an old painting for Nick's birthday present turns out to be the key to the mystery. When she shows it to her husband, it brings back unpleasant memories for him, so she donates it to a charity bazaar. When Edgar Draque offers Nora a large sum for the painting, Nick wonders why it is so valuable. Nick learns that Draque's wife Helena bought the artwork, but she is knocked out and the painting goes missing. Nick discovers that Crazy Mary is Berton's mother and goes to see her, only to come across her lifeless body. Nick and Nora's dog Asta finds the painting in her shack.

Nick puts the pieces together and has the police bring all the suspects to his father's house. (Early on, it is revealed that Nick's father, Dr. Bertram Charles, has never been overly impressed with his son's unusual career choice, so this gives Nick an opportunity to change his father's mind.) Using Dr. Charles's fluoroscope, Nick shows that there is a blueprint hidden underneath the paint. Several people identify it as part of the specifications for a new aircraft propeller worth a great deal to a "foreign power". Berton had copied the blueprints and smuggled them out in five paintings. He had a change of heart and was going to confess all to Nick, but was killed before he could. Nick has a souvenir World War II Japanese sniper rifle belonging to Dr. Clayworth's brother brought in, and claims it was the murder weapon. Then, after proving that the Draques are members of the crime ring, Nick reveals the identity of the leader of the gang: Dr. Bruce Clayworth. Clayworth's first slip was the bullet he showed Nick. Nick knew a pistol did not have the power to propel a bullet as far into Berton's body as the real one had. Clayworth grabs the rifle and, after confessing (and also revealing a deep hatred for Nick for always being better than him in their youth), tries to shoot his nemesis, only to find that Nick had taken the precaution of having the firing pin removed. Nick's father is very impressed.

Here is the trailer for "The Thin Man Goes Home" 

13 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

13 July, 1945      0915

Nancy

My dearest darling Wilma –

This being Friday, the thirteenth – we anticipate a big day. As M.P.’s – we should be busy, but chiefly because it’s the day before Bastille Day. The French plan to celebrate it for the first time since 1939, and from advance notices – they expect to do the day up brown. Naturally – the 13th doesn’t bother me at all. I say “Abracadabra’ 13 times every 13 minutes – and hell, everything is O.K.

But more important than that is the fact that I received two letters from you yesterday – the later one written on 5 July – which means I actually heard from you one week after you wrote the letter. That’s good! That particular letter was a longie, too, and particularly welcome because you had heard of our eventual assignment etc. I must say again, darling, you certainly take the news of my frequent changes of missions, delays, etc. – with the greatest of calm and composure. It sure makes me feel a heck of a lot better to read that you can take it if I can. I know how damned hard it has been for you – and having been keyed up so by the radio and the papers – only to be let down again by me – must be doubly tough. Your spirit is admirable, sweetheart, and I love you for it.

It’s so aggravating for us, dear, too – to see this division or that move out – with nowhere near the time overseas that we have had. Of course – they’re going right along on to war, and every outfit that leaves here now – means that much less chance of my going. The 438th – as an outfit – definitely will not go.

Say – you’ve really got me down as “independent, self-sufficient” etc and I’m glad you think I am. But don’t think that it will be a drawback, dear. I’ve been more or less alone now for the past 8 years or so – but only because I had to be. I believe I’ve told you I didn’t like it one bit. I love companionship and that’s what I missed most of all. And I’m so damned sure, sweetheart, that in addition to being my wife – you’ll be a companion, too. And I don’t think you’ll find me too positive, dear. Naturally, although I’ve never thought about it much, I imagine I must be ‘set’ in some of my ways. That’s natural. But I think I’m malleable enough to conform to changes if some of my set ways don’t fit into the scheme of married life. Yes. I am determined, to the point of stubbornness – but my determination is to marry you, make you happy and be a successful doctor – not only financially, but in the eyes of the rest of the profession and the community. That sort of determination shouldn’t be harmful, darling. All in all, dear, I’m thoroughly convinced that we love each other and that we’ll be very very happy as man and wife. We’ve been constant and steady under trying conditions – and if we haven’t wavered – its’ a damn good sign.

And it’s time I sign off right now and do some work. One thing I’m going to try to do this morning is to contact Frank Morse by phone – if possible. I don’t want to ride down to see him and find him out. So, for now, sweetheart – so long, love to the folks – and by the way, Pete sends his best regards.

All my everlasting love –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Cecilienhof Palace,
Setting of the Potsdam Conference


Exterior of Palace, today


Interior Courtyard of Palace, today

Cecilienhof Palace, is an English Tudor-style palace in Potsdam, Germany, not far from Berlin. It was here that the Potsdam Agreement was negotiated from 17 July to 2 August 1945. The purpose of the conference was the implementation of decisions reached previously at the Yalta Conference. The U.S. was represented by President Harry S. Truman and the USSR by Premier Joseph Stalin. The United Kingdom was represented at first by Prime Minister Winston Churchill and later by the new prime minister, Clement Richard Attlee. The Potsdam Agreement settled the reconstruction of Germany, defined the borders of the entire Theater of WWII, and planned for Germany's demilitarization, reparations and the persecution of war crimes.

This Palace, as with most palaces and large homes in Potsdam, was not damaged in the war. Situated on beautiful Jungferess Lake, Cecelienhof was built by Emperor Wilhelm II of Germany for his son, Crown prince Wilhelm. The brick and oak timberframe building, including six courtyards and 55 carved brick chimney tops, should have been completed in 1915, but construction was delayed due to the outbreak of World War I. Compared to other palaces in the area, it is a bit understated. When it was built in 1917, the English Tudor style, inspired by English manor homes, was all the rage. Although Wilhelm followed his father into exile in 1918, his wife Cecilie stayed at the palace until she fled from the approaching Red Army in February 1945. Prior to the conference, redecorating was done by sections, each to the presumed likings of the intended residents.

All black and white pictures were taken on 13 July 1945
CLICK TO ENLARGE


Front of Cecilienhof Palace, site of the Potsdam Conference.
British quarters were to the left.
American quarters and Truman's office were in the center.
Conference Room was to right of the long windows.
Stalin's office was right of that, in the rather dark space (above).


British Wing


Truman's study and library


Conference Room


Courtyard from Russian quarters to Conference Room


Some of the elaborate preparations made for the conference...
Delegates approached the building's main entrance
through a driveway surrounding these flower beds.

Today Cecilienhof Palace is a hotel and museum, surrounded by tidy gardens. In July of 2007, the G8 Summit was held here, adding to it's pedigree as a meeting place for world leaders.

Tidy Garden in an inner courtyard


Garden outside the Hotel Wing


Entrance to the museum with less elaborate garden, today

12 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

12 July, 1945      0930

Nancy

My dear fiancée –

For the first time in a long while I had an interesting evening last night. I dropped down to the Officers’ Club with a couple of fellows and by pure chance – met a Salem Hospital nurse who is with the 304th Station Hospital outside of Metz. She’s a Miss Greenough – about 35 and she’s aged quite a bit since I saw her last. The peculiar thing is that she was with another nurse – from the Beverly Hospital – whom I didn’t remember, but who remembered me. Well, darling, it sure was nice to sit down and talk about old times and old friends. Both of these girls had seen me intern and they reminded me of a good many major and minor escapades in which I had a part. Incidentally I learned that Frank Morse is in Charlours – the town we were supposed to go to. It’s about 100 miles from here and I’m going to try to get down to see him the first chance I get.

Both nurses, by the way, have been overseas for 23 months and yet have points in the 50’s and so they and their hospital are sweating out the C.B.I. They do think they’ll get a trip home first, though.

1110

Sorry, darling, I got busy and I’ve just got back. It’s strange having the battalion all together again. We haven’t been this way since Sherborne – and we’ve never been in one building. Sick-call attendance always picks up in such a set-up because the Dispensary is so easy to visit.

Boy – I didn’t get any mail yesterday – but I wrote “boy!” because I keep referring to a letter of yours 25 June – in which you speak so nicely of marriage. You really got down to facts and figures in discussing the probable date in September, the days in which we couldn’t get married, etc. Yup – late September would be nice and the fall and winter in which “we could keep each other warm” – sure sounded nice. Dammit – I wish I knew when it would be. One thing about being back here and not with a Corps – we don’t get any rumor anymore, good or bad. One day is like another. The only good news is the speed with which they’re getting troops out of the Continent. Every division that leaves means we’re that much nearer our own day for sailing. Almost all of us could pack up right now and take off. What I mean is that we’ve gotten rid of most of the junk we’ve carried all over France, Belgium and Germany; we’ve thrown away a lot, sent the rest home and we’re all ready. I’ve got the equivalent of one or two packages more of clothing I could send home but I’m waiting to see if I’ll need it or not. And thanks for having offered the space in your home, darling, but I’m not going to clutter you up anymore than I already have. I can send it to my Dad’s place of business. You’ve got enough junk as it is – unless I’m mistaken. That reminds me – I still have a sword I never sent out. I don’t know what to do with it.

But I know I must stop now and get going, sweetheart. All this talk doesn’t tell you I love you dearly and that’s really what I want to say. I do, darling, very, very much and never forget it. Just think how nice it will be to tell you that instead of writing it.

All for now – dear – Love to the folks – and all my sincerest love – ever –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Mining India's Coal to Fuel the C-B-I Theater

The following article was published in the India-Burma Theater's Roundup on 12 July 1945.

Vol. III   No. 45         Delhi, Thursday,  July 12, 1945          Reg. No. L5015


ASSAM COAL PRODUCE AIDS U.S. ARMY
By Sgt. JOHN McDOWELL   Roundup Staff Writer


Sargaent John McDowell (center, standing)

LEDO, ASSAM - I've just returned from a two-mile hike along the biggest little supply line in the India-Burma and China Theaters of Operation. The supply line extends through a labyrinth of tunnels nearly eight miles into the side of a jungle-matted mountain. Traffic along the line consists of chains of squat, wooden gondolas, powered by cable-drive, which carry ton after ton of coal from the depths of the primordial Assamese earth to supply the American fighting machine.

For 70 years prior to World War II, the British worked the rich Assam coal deposits, building a rail line from Calcutta to carry the precious fuel to the outside world and bringing mining experts from the coal-producing centers of England to manage the mines and train Indian technicians.

RAIL LINE
Today, the rail line which once hauled coal and tea from Assam and brought back civilian luxuries and everyday necessities for those whose job kept them in the jungle on the "edge of nowhere" is now the vital link in an American supply line which stretches 14,000 miles from the United States to ever-growing war depots in the interior of China.

And the coal mines of Assam are diverting 80 percent of their production to this American supply line and to American installations. Working on a round-the-clock schedule, the mines have upped production 30 percent during the war years to an annual figure of 270,000 tons.

The fuel powers the trains which bring war materials from the docks of Calcutta to Hump cargo plane bases in Assam or to convoy assembly depots in Ledo at the beginning of the Stilwell Road.

POWERS BOATS
It powers the Brahmaputra riverboats which carry troops and supplies up that great inland waterway to the beginning of the meter-gauge rail line in Assam. It fires the boilers which run the generators, the laundries, the ice plants in hundreds of American Army installations in India and Burma. It fires the stoves in countless G.I. kitchens.

This was the story - the story of the supply lines that reaches into the heart of a mountain to bring fuel to a military lifeline that extends halfway around the world - that brought Sgt. Frank Shearer, Roundup photographer, and me to the grimy office of one of Assam's largest coal mines early this rain-tinged morning.

We were met at the office by A. G. G. Maltby, general manager of the mine who greeted us with a chuckle and said, "So you want to make a trip into the mine. It's bloody hot, you know. Bloody uncomfortable. You'll sweat like bloomin' pigs."

TIRED MINER
A South Wales coal miner with 19 years' service in Assam behind him, Maltby is as huge as the mountain he mines. This morning he was dressed in a tattered undershirt covered with an open jacket, khaki shorts, heavy boots and British Army leggings and a steel mine helmet that balanced above his large florid face like an inverted saucer.

We followed Maltby into the main mine tunnel, stumbling along the narrow cable car tracks in the path of dim light from our small miner's lanterns. For a quarter-hour the going was easy. The tunnel was broad and high and reinforced with brick and steel and timber.

As we got deeper into the mountain the air become more humid. Moisture dripped from the arched brick ceiling, and as our lamps cast eerie shadows in the gloom, bats stirred in dim crevices.

The broad brick and steel-reinforced section of the tunnel ended abruptly and we entered a section scarcely five feet high where rough, blasted rock walls funneled sharply down to the edge of the tracks. Heavy timbers supported the tunnel here and as we pushed forward at an awkward crouch, we received more than one bump on the head by forgetting to duck low hanging support beams.

MARSHALLING YARDS
Suddenly the cable which ran up the center of the tracks became taut and started to hum. "A load of coal is coming out," Maltby said. "We'd better get clear of the tracks."

A few yards further on we came to an indentation cut into the side of the tunnel. We crowded into the opening. The humming became louder then was replaced by an increasing clatter. Then from the black recesses of the tunnel a chain of 15 or 20 small wooden gondolas which the British call "tubs," flashed into the radius of our lamplight with their cargo of coal. An Indian miner, clinging to the last tub, blinked in the sudden light, then disappeared in the blackness which lay between us and the outside world. The clattering diminished, replaced by the humming which gradually became fainter. Then all was silent. The cable slacked. The chain of tubs had reached the unloading point outside.

An hour after entering the tunnel we reached the marshaling yards, two miles into the mountain. Here, for the first time, we realized the magnitude of the network of rail lines necessary to bring the coal to the surface.

From the marshaling yards, lighted by powerful lamps, tracks branch out from their converging point into a series of sub-tunnels. In each of the sub-tunnels smaller marshaling points are located in areas where jigs (connecting shafts between levels) lead up to higher levels of the mine.

NERVE CENTER
The various levels of the mine, which step up toward the top of the mountain, are connected with the main marshalling yards by cable lines which ease the loaded tubs down the steep jigs to the main yards and pull up empties to be loaded.

Thus, the main marshalling yards is the nerve center of the mine. It is here that loaded tubs from all working sections of the mine are formed into chains of up to 25, hooked to the cable and pulled to the outside. And it is here that chains of empty tubs from the outside unloading point are broken up and dispatched to various points in the mine, ready for reloading.

In all, the transportation network in the mine is comprised of approximately 16 miles of trackage and nearly the same amount of cable.

Long years of working in the mine's low tunnels had formed Maltby's posture into a permanent stoop. Even when standing upright his torso, neck and head leaned forward as if he were constantly on the verge of plunging into the darkness of a low-timbered mine passageway.

G.I. NEOPHYTES
But Shearer and I were unconditioned to life under the earth. By the time we reached the marshaling yards we were soaked with perspiration and our legs and backs ached from walking through the low-ceiling tunnel in an unaccustomed crouch. And we still hadn't seen a miner at work.

But when Maltby reminded us that the going was "bloody well tougher" before we got up to the actual mining operations, we could last as long as the big Welshman.

Maltby's prediction of "tough going" soon proved to be a choice example of British understatement. We walked along one of the sub-tunnels to a jig which led up into the mountain at a 70-degree slope. The cable leading up the jig was moving slowly and Maltby motioned us back from the jig entrance.

COMING DOWN
"A tub's comin' down," he warned. "Sometimes the blasted cable breaks and there's bloody hell to pay. Had a man killed here last week."

We got back. Way back. Slowly the loaded tub inched down from the jig to the mine level and rolled to a stop. Natives uncoupled the cable and hooked it onto an empty tub. One workman struck a steel gong a sharp blow. At that signal, the cable tightened and the empty tub was pulled up into the black mouth of the jig. Other natives pushed the loaded tub down the tracks toward the main marshaling yards.

When the cable had slacked again, indicating that the tub was uncoupled at the next level, Maltby rang the gong three times. "That's a warning that we're coming up the jig," he said. "Otherwise we bloody well might find ourselves face to face with a blinkin' tub coming down."

JIG'S POSITION
The jig seemed almost perpendicular. It stretched up into the mountain for more than 200 yards like a dark, narrow gopher hole. Crude steps were cut in the coal floor of the jig beside the tracks. We clawed our way up the jig, stopping every 40 or 50 yards to gasp for breath. The humid temperature of 85 degrees which we had cursed on the main mine level seemed cool in retrospect. The temperature in the jig, Maltby told us, was approximately 90. It became even hotter as we got farther into the mine.

That was just the beginning. At the top of the jig we paused for breath, then stumbled along the timber-supported tunnel of the second level, passing through a series of iron doors which mark the midway point in the mine's ventilating system. Fresh air is drawn into the mine through the main tunnel which we had followed. Stale air passes out of the mine through another series of tunnels. Beyond the last of the iron doors, we found ourselves in the stale air portion of the ventilating system. The air was heavy and breathing was difficult. Water, tinged heavily with sulfur, lay in pools along the floor of the tunnel.

AVERAGE AGE
We struggled up three more jigs, varying from 30 to 100 yards in length, before reaching the level where Bhutan miners were working a large pocket of coal. Bhutans, short, muscular men from India's north frontier country, and Nepalese make up the majority of the mine's 2,000 native workers. Their pay is two rupees per nine hour work day.

Average age of the miners is 26, although some of the sirdars (mine superintendents) have spent most of their lives in this one mine. The four head sirdars have spent an aggregate of 130 years in the mine. Mussa, a white-haired, gnome-like old man is the veteran with 40 years service. Pahala has spent 34 years in the mine and Kesoo and kali Bose have records of 30 and 26 years respectively.

We had to crawl on all fours up a narrow tunnel, know as a chauri, to reach the pocket where the miners were at work. The pocket was approximately 50 yards in diameter and the ceiling was better than 30 feet high. The coal, Maltby explained, is blasted off the walls and ceiling of these pockets with charges of dynamite. Some pockets are as large as 75 to 100 yards in diameter with 100-foot ceilings.

As we stood on the edge of the pocket, watching the Bhutans work the coal in the light of two giant lamps, a trickle of coal dust sifted down from the high ceiling. "Cabadar!" one of the miners shouted. In an instant the miners scattered to the edges of the pocket and in their wake a shower of coal thundered down from the ceiling and echoed in the silence as it fell where the miners had been working.

ALMOST SERIOUS
"Could have been damn well serious," Maltby said when the excitement died down. "Good thing these miners develop an uncanny instinct. When the one Bhutan saw the dust filtering from the ceiling he knew what was coming and shouted the warning - cabadar, which means 'clear the bloody hell out.'"

The trip back was fast and comparatively easy. Leaving the 98 degree heat of the coal pocket, we picked our way cautiously down jigs which had been closed to rail traffic two weeks earlier by a series of cave-ins. In places we had to squeeze through narrow spaces between collapsed timbers. When we reached the main level, Maltby said, "I brought you back that way so you could see one of the mine's danger areas."

It may have been a danger area, but it was a short-cut. We didn't complain.

We rode back from the main marshaling yards to the outside world in empty tubs. It was a weird trip. Crouching low in the tubs so our heads would clear the low ceiling and timbers of the tunnel, we trained our lamps on the sides and ceiling of the passageway. The chain of tubs clattered down the tracks at eight miles per hour, but in the close confines of the tunnel it seemed as if we were careening along at a mile a minute at least.

OUTSIDE AGAIN
Suddenly pale traces of daylight drowned the light from our lamps and then we were on the outside, half-blinded in the unaccustomed light of day.

The chain of tubs left the jungled mountain behind. We passed a large corrugated iron factory building where small coal (coal dust) is mixed with pitch, lime and spoiled rice and molded into brickets which are utilized as fuel by Army installations. We passed tattooed Bengalese women shoveling coal or carrying it in large baskets on their heads. Then we came to a stop at the unloading shed where the newly-mined coal was dumped from the tubs onto conveyor belts.

As the coal passed down the long conveyor belts, Indian women picked out the slag. The coal was then sifted and loaded into large railway cars, ready for delivery to the United States Army.

11 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

11 July, 1945      0840

Nancy

Good morning, sweetheart –

Well – we’ve been in this town for a little over two weeks – and my poor detachment is moving for the 3rd time – but we’re so darned used to it – we’re not concerned very much. We’ve finally attained a large building which will house the whole battalion and everyone is moving in today – except Able battery which will remain in Metz – at least for now. The general set-up will be good, because the building is downtown and will be very convenient for the men when on pass. So in about an hour or so, after sick-call, we’ll be moving once more.

Yesterday I got two letters – none from you. Both letters, though, were interesting. One was from Lou Rogol – a fellow I’ve told you about – who was with 5th Army in Italy and was sent home on rotation. He’s happy, of course, having been married and having a wife with him; but he’s still being shifted around. This time he wrote me from Ft. Meade, Maryland, and he believes that should be fairly permanent now. He had been at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma – before then.

The other letter was quite a surprise. It was from ‘that Blonde’ German woman I defended in Stolberg. I’ll be darned if I know where she got my address, although it would have been easy enough. The letter was addressed to me by a Lieutenant whom I don’t know – with his return address on the envelope. As she explained in the letter, he is a ‘friend’ of some of her friends and she asked him to mail the letter. He stuck his neck out, too, because if the letter were opened, he’d really be in trouble. What she had to say was that she thanked me for my troubles in her behalf last winter, that she had finally been cleared of all charges (I had left before I knew that for certain.) She wanted to know how I was, if I had gotten thru the war safely and would I visit her and her mother if I had the chance. Well – needless to say, dear, it was all rather surprising. I told the boys about it and got quite a ‘riding’. Of course I won’t answer it.

Say – in the letter I got from you the day before yesterday, you mentioned the possibility of your dropping over to Magnolia and visiting the Casino. You brought back memories of my Beverly days, dear. We used to go there often – and it’s one of the nicest spots to go dancing and dining that I’ve ever been to. I wonder if Ruby Newman still runs it. We got to know him fairly well. I know the fellow who did – and still does his arrangements, a Roy Anderson who majored in music at Harvard. He directed the Band the years I played in it.

From the Post Card:

The beautiful Casino at Magnolia. Scenery which offers all the beauties of the North Shore with its historic Reef of Norman's Woe, immortalized by Longfellow's poem, "The Wreck Of The Hesperus"; and the famous Reef Chasm. Naturally cooled by Gloucester Harbor breezes. Unsurpassed cuisine - Ruby Newman's delightful music for dancing.

Gosh sweetheart how I’d love to be taking you to a place like that! It’s so romantic – although I know I can be romantic with you anywhere and anytime. Just give me the chance! Jeepers – I sure could do with a little of your loving, darling! I’m really missing you these days, more than I’ve let you know. I’ve mentioned before – that with the tension of combat gone – I have more time to think of you and us – and more time to regret our continued being apart. But they are moving men out – way ahead of schedule – and sooner of later – they must come to us – or me. I’m waiting and praying for that day – and so hard! I love you dearly, sweetheart – and I want so much to show you what I mean.

Gotta stop now and clear out. Hope to her from you today – but things will be a bit mixed up because everyone’s moving – including the mail clerk. My love to the folks, dear, regards to Mary – and remember – you have and will always have

All my deepest love and devotion –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Roy Anderson

Greg mentioned that Roy Anderson was doing arrangements for Ruby Newman's band during the war years. Here is more about Greg's former Harvard Band director.

Anderson with the Harvard Band in 1929

Leroy Anderson (Leh-ROY', not LEE'-roy; 29 June 1908 – 18 May 1975) was an American composer of short, light concert pieces, many of which were introduced by the Boston Pops Orchestra under the direction of Arthur Fiedler. John Williams described him as "one of the great American masters of light orchestral music."

Born in Cambridge, Massachusetts to Swedish parents, Anderson was given his first piano lessons by his mother, who was a church organist. He continued studying piano at the New England Conservatory of Music. In 1925 Anderson entered Harvard University, where he studied theory with Walter Spalding, counterpoint with Edward Ballantine, harmony with George Enescu, composition with Walter Piston and double bass with Gaston Dufresne. He also studied organ with Henry Gideon. He graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree in 1929 and Master of Arts in 1930.

Anderson continued studying at Harvard, working towards a PhD in German and Scandinavian languages. Anderson spoke English and Swedish during his youth but he eventually became fluent in Danish, Norwegian, Icelandic, German, French, Italian, and Portuguese. During this time he was also working as organist and choir director at the East Milton Congregational Church, leading the Harvard University Band, and conducting and arranging for dance bands around Boston. His arranging work came to the attention of Arthur Fiedler in 1936 and Anderson was asked to show Fiedler any original compositions. Anderson's first work was Jazz Pizzicato in 1938. Fiedler suggested that a companion piece be written and thus Anderson wrote Jazz Legato in 1938.

In 1942 Leroy "Roy" Anderson joined the U.S. Army, and was assigned to Iceland as a translator and interpreter. Later in 1945 he was assigned to the Pentagon as Chief of the Scandinavian Desk of Military Intelligence. But his duties did not prevent him from composing, and in 1945 he wrote "The Syncopated Clock" and "Promenade." Anderson was a reserve officer and was recalled to active duty for the Korean War. In 1951 Anderson wrote his first hit, "Blue Tango," earning a Golden Disc and the No. 1 spot on the Billboard charts.

His pieces and his recordings during the fifties conducting a studio orchestra were immense commercial successes. "Blue Tango" was the first instrumental recording ever to sell one million copies. His most famous pieces are probably "Sleigh Ride" and "The Syncopated Clock", both of which are instantly recognizable to millions of people. In 1950, WCBS-TV in New York City selected "Syncopated Clock" as the theme song for The Late Show, the WCBS late-night movie. Mitchell Parish added words to "Syncopated Clock", and later wrote lyrics for other Anderson tunes, including "Sleigh Ride", which was not written as a Christmas piece, but as a work that describes a winter event.

Anderson started the work during a heat wave in August 1946. He finished the work in February 1948. The Boston Pops' recording of it in 1949 was the first pure orchestral piece to reach No. 1 on the Billboard Pop Music chart. "Sleigh Ride" became the signature song for the orchestra. The orchestra has also recorded the song with John Williams, their conductor from 1979 to 1995, and Keith Lockhart, their current conductor. Lyrics, about a person who would like to ride in a sleigh on a winter's day with another person, were written by Mitchell Parish in 1950. Leroy Anderson recorded his own version of "Sleigh Ride" in 1950. This recording hit the Cashbox magazine best sellers chart when re-released in 1952.

Although "Sleigh Ride" is often associated with Christmas, and often appears on Christmas compilation albums, the song's lyrics never specifically mention any holiday or religion (apart from certain recordings, such as those by the Carpenters, Walter Schumann and Air Supply, that substitute "Christmas party" for "birthday party" in the song's bridge). In fact, the mention of "pumpkin pie" in the last verse might suggest an association with Thanksgiving rather than Christmas.

According to the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers [ASCAP] review of Christmas music, "Sleigh Ride" consistently ranks in the top 10 list of most performed songs written by ASCAP members during the Christmas season worldwide. The song retains its appeal. ASCAP named "Sleigh Ride" the most popular piece of Christmas music in the USA for the consecutive years, 2010 and 2011, based on performance data tracked by airplay monitoring service, Mediaguide, from over 2,500 radio stations nationwide. The most performed artist version of "Sleigh Ride" was the original instrumental version as recorded by Leroy Anderson.

According to author, Steve Metcalf, in his book, Leroy Anderson: A Bio-Bibliography (Praeger 2004),

"Sleigh Ride" ... has been performed and recorded by a wider array of musical artists than any other piece in the history of Western music."

Here are Roy Anderson's two signature songs, "Sleigh Ride" (instrumental and with voice) and "Syncopated Clock".

Sleigh Ride (Instrumental)
as conducted by Leroy Anderson:

Sleigh Ride (with Vocals)
Sung by Amy Grant:


Syncopated Clock
performed by Arthur Fiedler's Boston Pops:

10 July 1945

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

10 July, 1945 

Nancy

My dearest Sweetheart –

Gee – I got a letter yesterday from you, Dad B and Dad A – all postmarked 2 July and that’s not bad at all. I think from here in the mail service ought to be continuously good. I hope the service in your direction, dear, is just as good.

So you are now in the unemployed class! I’ll bet it’s a relief – although my bet is you’ll probably be missing it soon. But it will do you good – getting a rest and relaxing. The fact is, darling, that for the past couple of months or so you have sounded a bit tired – although I know several factors were involved.

Say, dear, I didn’t know Dad B was so tired out. Has he been working too hard, and how do you happen to know his pulse is always fast? For pity’s sake – have him take it easy. And by the way – how is Mother B? I guess I should drop them both a note – but damn it – I seem to have less time now than I did when we were in Combat. And don’t you overwork either, sweetheart! Mowing all that lawn etc. is too much for a girl to do – remember that! And incidentally, I love you, darling – so take care of yourself for me. Love to the folks and

All my love,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about The Mystery Surrounding U-530


U-530 in Argentina

In his blog "History's mysteries and other thoughts", Pilar Bertuzzi Patagonia posted an article, U-530: The Mystery U-boat of Patagonia, on 3 April 2011. Here was that post:

On 10 July 1945, two months after the end of WWII, German submarine U-530 surrendered to the Argentinian forces at Mar del Plata, south of Buenos Aires. Oberleutnant Otto Wermuth, the ship’s captain, did not explain why the crew on board carried no identification and could not account for the ship’s log, which was missing.

U-530 Commanding Officer
Lieutenant (j.g.) Otto Wermuth

On 17 July 1945, Reuters reported that according to Argentinian newspaper, Critica, the Argentine police were searching the coast for any person that may have disembarked from the U-530. Critica argued that there were doubts as to whether Otto Wermuth was the ship’s real captain and introduced the possibility that the real crew, together with high-ranking Nazis may have been off-loaded before the ship’s surrender on 10 July. On 23 July 1945, Time magazine wrote that an Argentine journalist reported

he had seen a Buenos Aires provincial police report to the effect that a strange submarine had surfaced off the long, lonely, lower Argentine coast, had landed a high-ranking officer and a civilian. They might have been Adolf Hitler and his wife, Eva Braun, in man's dress.

Could Hitler and Eva Braun have escaped Berlin days before their alleged suicide on April 30, 1945?

This possibility was first introduced by Stalin at Potsdam on 17 July 1945 and was compound by the fact that the Soviets, who occupied Berlin in May 1945, had difficulties in locating the bodies of Hitler and Eva Braun. In Argentina, the Navy Intelligence service had been investigating mysterious German U-boat landings since April 1945. In a report filed by navy investigator, Niceforo Alarcon, a copy of which can be retrieved from the Coordinacion Federal under the number CF-OP-2315, landings had been taking place since 1943, with Navy Lt Rudolf Freude and Eva Duarte (Eva Peron) as principal activists. The U-boats landed at a secluded spot near the village of San Clemente del Tuyu. According to author Ladislav Farago, the U-boats unloaded gold and counterfeit currency, part of Martin Bormann’s plan to fund the future survival of the Third Reich.

However, the events of Hitler’s last days in the bunker under the Chancellery are well documented by eye witness accounts. The NKVD (Soviet Secret Services) issued a preliminary report in 1946, in which it confirmed that Hitler and Eva Braun’s bodies had been dug up from a spot in the garden outside the Chancellery, where the SS had tried to bury them after setting fire to them. The NKVD funded a further investigation which produced the Operation Myth dossier, presented to Stalin in 1949. This dossier was only released in its entirety in 2005. It is based on thorough interrogations of Hitler’s assistant, Heinz Linge, and his military adjutant, Otto Günsche. The dossier confirms that Hitler and Eva Braun committed suicide on the afternoon of 30 April 1945; Hitler by cyanide capsule and a shot to the temple and Eva Braun by cyanide capsule. These accounts were later corroborated by Hitler’s secretary’s own account, Traudl Junge, who had personally typed the Fuhrer’s last will. Ms. Junge stated that she heard the shot on 30 April, whilst Otto Gunsche confirms that he tried to set fire to the bodies in the garden outside the bunker.

Aside from these eye witness accounts, there is little evidence left of Hitler’s death. The bodies dug by the Soviets in 1945 had been recognized as those of Hitler and Eva Braun by Hitler’s dentist who claimed that the dental remains of one of the skulls matched his memory of the Fuhrer’s teeth. However, the remains had be reburied and re-dug several times until they were finally destroyed in 1970. All that remained of them is the fragment of a skull (cranial vault) and pieces of the couch bearing the remains of Hitler’s blood.

Dr. Nick Bellantoni, state archeologist at the University of Connecticut was allowed access to the evidence at the Russian State archives in 2008. He was able to extract DNA samples from the skull and from the blood stains he collected from the couch fibers. Dr. Bellantoni’s first analysis suggested that the cranial vault exhibited characteristics that do not match those of a fifty-six year old male. Later, the DNA analysis proved that the skull belonged to a woman: it was not, therefore, Adolf Hitler’s as the Soviets had claimed since 1970. The blood was that of a male, but the results were inconclusive since none of Hitler’s surviving relatives accepted to take part in the test.

Some argue that Hitler may have escaped aboard Hanna Reitchs‘ plane that left Berlin on the night of 29 April, although she denied that until her death. There is evidence in FBI filings that the Bureau had been looking for Hitler in Spain, where it believed he had fled to, based on some eye witness accounts and medical files stating that Hitler had been taking large quantities of dope as prescription for tremors that he suffered from.

Whilst physical evidence is inconclusive, eye witness accounts are accurate and all corroborate the view that Hitler did commit suicide on 30 April. Escaping would not have been a choice to a man who had seen the collapse of his empire. The fact that the bodies have not been found matches Hitler’s last wish not to allow the Soviets the satisfaction of parading his remains in public, like the Italians had done with the body of Benito Mussolini in Milan. There is therefore very little chance that the Fuhrer survived the war.

09 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

9 July, 1945      0845

Nancy

Good morning, darling –

I’m writing you from our new Dispensary location – which is swell, although temporary. The Colonel still wants a place where the whole battalion will be together, so we’ll probably be here only a while. We have a 16 room mansion – in the better section of town. It’s a fine house and my boys have about 2 rooms each. I’ve got to get a phone installed today and arrange for a couple of more details – and will be all set.

Yesterday p.m. – I had a nice time. I believe I told you already that I had met a couple of nice families thru Dave Ennis. Well I was invited by them to play tennis yesterday at their club. It turned out to be a fairly swank place and definitely not public. We played doubles – the two madames that I know, and a young fellow. It was a swell match and I was thoroughly surprised. One of the women must certainly be in her late forties – and to see her get around the court – was a pleasure. I think in a game of singles she could probably trim me – although I’m no champ, of course. When we were thru – we sat around on the porch of the Clubhouse and drank lemonade. I was surprised when I was asked to become a member. There are no other American members and when I asked if some of the other officers in my outfit might join up – I was told ‘no’; I could because I was proposed by two members. I’ll probably join up – you can join by the month – season – etc and maybe if I can get to know a couple of more members – some of our officers may in turn be invited.

The club – by the way – is situated high up on a hill in the suburbs of town and is really smooth. The courts are excellent – and I’m mighty glad I brought along that liberated German racquet – it’s coming in handy.

The only mail I received yesterday, darling, was one letter from you – 23 June. You seemed a bit tired and fed up with things – and somewhat disappointed where – after 9 days of no mail and hopes that I might be on my way home – a V-Mail arrived at Mother A’s intimating no such thing. I know, sweetheart, how you must feel about things – but heck, dear, I feel just as terribly about it. By the way – what are your plans for the summer? You haven’t mentioned – even in your most recent letter of the 28th. I suppose it will just seem swell not to have to trek into and out of town every day.

You think it would be a good idea if I wrote Phil. I suppose so, dear, although there’s really not much point to it. He’s certainly got enough to do without bothering to answer – and he may feel obligated to write if he hears from me. I’ll think it over some more and perhaps jot him a note of some sort – at a later date.

What I’m more interested in then anything else, darling, is you – and I too – am pretty fed up with being away from you. It’s been so damned long. We’ve just got to hold out a little longer – and I know our love for each other is capable of giving us that ability. Because, sweetheart, I do love you so very very much – that time nor anything else can stand in its way.

All for now, dear. Love to the folks – and

My deepest, sincerest love is yours –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Those who were Untrue

This article was published in TIME magazine, Monday 9 July 1945, Volume XLVI, Number 2.

"ARMY & NAVY: They're Always Short"

TIME Correspondent Carl Mydans, who has spent eleven months with U.S. fighting men and 21 months in Jap internment, recently witnessed a scene not infrequent in World War II. He set it down as he saw it.

Carl Mydans in 1936
War Correspondent and Photographer

Last week he cabled from the Pacific:

The ship's mail had just been thrown aboard, and throughout the destroyer there was that warm excitement, stimulation and laughter which always follows the operation.

The executive officer was a young one and he liked his men — which is saying that his men liked him.

I saw him that morning as we lay off the beach at Tarakan leaning on the rail, an enlisted man beside him, a letter in his hands. He was reading. Then he folded the letter deliberately, put his arm around the sailor's shoulders, and handed him the letter. A moment later he appeared beside me on the bridge. He lighted a cigarette.

A signal man standing nearby whispered: "The smoking lamp is out, sir." He jerked into consciousness, rubbed out his cigarette. He turned to me:

That's the third one we've had this month. And this time it's the best man we've got on the ship. I've watched that kid change slowly from a Middlewest farmer to the best machinist's mate I've seen in the Navy. When we wanted a job done we turned it over to him and that was like saying the job was done. But he's through now. He's through for a while anyway. We'll keep him busy. We'll keep him ticking. But we won't give him anything to do that has any responsibility connected with it.

He was mad. He reached for another cigarette, then jabbed the pack into his pocket. I let him talk:

He just got a letter from his wife. Just came in with this mail. He came up to me and I knew (here was something wrong before he spoke. Matter of fact he didn't say much. Sometimes they talk. But he just couldn't. He just handed me the letter and said: 'This is the first I've had from my wife in six months.' I knew what it was. I didn't have to read it. It was short. They always are. 'Dear James,' it read,

I know you will understand. I've met the only man in the world and I want you to give me a divorce. You can get one through the Navy. They say it's easier through the Navy. You can have Vicki. I hate to lose her but this thing means more to me than anything else in the world.

The lieutenant pointed with his chin: "There he is. He's sitting out there on the fantail alone."

On the black, oily beach a thousand yards off, a strip of LSTs and LCIs lay high & dry. Jap artillery and heavy mortar was splashing around them. Farther inland our naval barrage was laying in some white puffs amid the jungle green. We had been at general quarters since dawn and the machine-gun bursts from the shore side told of men fighting and dying there. But to the machinist's mate sitting alone in the quiet of his anguish, the war and all its noises had faded away. The war had lost its meaning. Everything he had been trained for had lost its meaning. "The best man on the ship" had been sabotaged.