Dear Mrs. Gray
A Novel by
Cindy Ely
This book is based on a true story although it is a work of fiction. Some names, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Resemblance to some events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2010 by Cindy Ely
Smashwords Edition
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ISBN: 1453694471
EAN-13: 9781453694473
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For my great Uncle Warren and great Aunt Violet who shared their letters of love; my husband Mark for his support and encouragement; Ralph Barsanti who took the time to relate his wartime experiences; my mother (Ardis Jane) and my Uncle Ralph (Ralph Jr.) for their childhood memories.
Prologue
The year was 1998. My great Aunt Violet was 96 years old and ready to join her true love in Heaven, my great uncle Warren, or Uncle Warren as we knew him. I had come for a visit to say my final goodbye. We spoke of the wonderful summer vacations at her lake home when I was growing up. While we reminisced, I noticed a large American flag draped over a nearby chair. The flag acknowledged my great uncle’s Army service during World War II, and was draped over his coffin at the burial ceremony. It was almost as if she could read my thoughts. She asked if there was anything that I might want upon her death and I told her that I would love having his burial flag and promised to proudly display it in my home. She asked if there was anything else. I couldn’t really think of anything off hand, but yielding to my writer’s intuition I asked if she had kept any letters written between her and Uncle Warren while they were apart during World War II. Her eyes brightened with spirited reflection. She said she had all of the letters from those difficult years and promised to send them.
Time passed on, and so did my great Aunt Violet. It was about a year after her death that I received a box from one of her neighbors. Inside was a musty old World War II era canvas bag with over 500 letters inside. The letters were dated from 1942 to 1945.
For nine years the canvas bag sat inside a box in my guest room closet. The rubber bands surrounding several bunches of letters deteriorated and the envelopes yellowed more with each passing day.
One year, while doing spring cleaning, I noticed the box once more. I pulled it out of the closet and placed it on a small table in my exercise room as a reminder. For six months it beckoned me to open its contents. Every time I exercised I was reminded of those letters.
Finally, one day I sat down and started reading. I was pleasantly surprised to see the onion paper, which most of the letters were written on, in relatively good condition. What I gleaned from those letters was a treasure trove of history and romance that simply captivated me. After deciphering the, at times almost illegible handwriting, I decided that I couldn’t possibly keep their story to myself. So I am inviting you, the reader, to take a peek at just one branch of my family tree.
Warren Gray was born on November 6th, 1900. He was premature and weighed two and one-half pounds at birth. Back then hospitals didn’t have sophisticated equipment to keep premature babies alive, so the doctor simply placed his fragile little body on a pillow and said that he would let God decide if Warren should live or die. God had plans for Warren Gray.
My great Uncle Warren was the first son born to O.R. and Myrtle Gray. Eight years later my grandfather, Ralph Gray was born.
The family of four was doing quite well. The “roaring twenties” era was in its infancy. The Jazz Age was in full swing. O.R. was working as a railroad station agent. Warren had graduated high school and was working for a local textile factory. Myrtle’s life had become less complicated with just an eleven year old Ralph to raise. She was in her late 40’s and had assumed that she was going through “the change” or as we call it today…menopause. All of the physiological signs were there, so she naturally assumed that she was entering another stage of life.
Then one day she experienced excruciating cramps. She urgently called the local doctor. He rushed to her home, all the while thinking Myrtle had a serious health problem. After attending to her, the doctor called O.R at work with unexpected and stunning news. Myrtle had given birth to a new baby boy. My great Uncle Bob had arrived.
All of my life I heard fascinating stories about these three men. My youth was colored with family recollections of some of their younger days. My grandfather, Ralph, was humorous and very likeable, as they say “quite a card.” Warren was more stoic, wise with a dry sense of humor. Bob was highly intelligent and said to have had a “photographic” memory.
After Ralph graduated high school both he and Warren started working for Conrad’s Bakery in Momence, Illinois. After Bob graduated high school he went on to college and received a law degree.
Warren and Violet were high school sweethearts, so it was expected that some day they would wed, but it was an absolute wonderment to the family that it took Warren 13 years to propose. He finally married Violet on July 4th, 1931.
I don’t know much about her side of the family, except for her brother Charlie. Charlie was a few years younger than Warren and was also drafted into service during World War II. He corresponded with both of them, conveying a different perspective on his war time experiences.
Now I feel I must tell you that there appeared to be a rivalry between Warren and Charlie. From what I could tell, it was based mostly on attracting Violet’s attention. Violet managed to counterbalance her brother and her husband beautifully to keep the peace. It appeared Charlie was always trying to win her sympathy, while Warren was always describing his skills and endurance. As you read some of the letters you will notice the slight bantering they engage in.
During the war, letters meant everything. Radio and the U.S. Postal service were in high demand, and without television, the internet, texting and twittering, information moved slowly.
Warren and Violet lived on a 20 acre farm in Independence, Missouri. The word farm is how Warren described it in his letters, but it was not a working farm for all intents and purposes. After they married, Warren owned and operated “Gray’s Bakery,” while Violet worked as a stenographer in town. The depression brought hard times, but they managed to endure. Then, one morning in 1941 everyone’s lives changed forever.
History books claim the start of the war was September 1, 1939, but the United States remained relatively uninvolved until December 7th, 1941, when an attack on the American fleet at Pearl Harbor forced the United States to formally declare war on Japan. This became the defining moment that “awoke the sleeping giant.” The need for soldiers, sailors and airmen was so great that almost anyone with a body temperature of 98.6 was drafted for service. The threat was so grave and the cause so just, people did what their government and country expected of them, even if they had misgivings about the very concept of war. Most experts at the time said they thought the war would last three years. Unfortunately, it lasted longer.
Warren and Charlie were drafted at approximately the same time, but were sent to two different camps for basic training. Warren was sent to Camp Wolters in Texas. For a time, it was the largest infantry replacement training center in the United States. Charlie was sent to Camp Crowder in Missouri.
Violet was left to fend for herself. So she vacated the farm and moved in with her mother in Olathe, Kansas. There she found another job working as a stenographer. In many ways, she was drafted too. She was left with the responsibility of paying bills for their 20 acre farm and operating Warren’s bakery.
The following letters are correspondence between Warren and Violet Gray, with an occasional letter from Violet’s brother Charlie. Warren received his draft notice in the spring of 1942. He began basic training on August 18th of that year. He was 42 years old. And now for a trip back to the war years.
1942
August 1942 Warren
Dearest Violet,
I’m sitting in the recreation room writing to you. Another day has gone and we are heading towards becoming soldiers. With all the marching and drilling we are falling in line pretty well now. They really give you a strenuous workout here but so far I haven’t had anything near as hard as I had on any of my civilian jobs so I guess I can keep up with these young pups. Most of the boys are about 18, I’m considered over the hill at 42.
Today the lieutenant of our platoon came to our barracks and tested our eyes. Funny thing, but one of mine was a little defective. Don’t know quite what that means, but I’m still here so I guess it’s no bother. I think Uncle Sam would take a blind man right now.
Reveille is at 5:30am. 5:45 is chow and between 6 and 6:30 our beds have to be made and ready for inspection. Then comes the day of marching and drills. You don’t have time to shave or anything in the morning. This has to be done in the evening after 6pm. Of course, not shaving till night doesn’t affect most of the boys. Most only have stubble at best.
The food here is pretty awful. Course, after a full day of training just about anything tastes okay, but seriously I’ve seen some of the camp mongrels turn it down. They sure could use a good cook and baker here.
While at dinner one night, I met this young boy. Young is putting it mildly. He looks like a baby. In fact, I question that he’s 18 years old. He said he’s from Kingston, Texas. He’s one of twelve children born to sharecroppers. Can you imagine? Twelve children. He was in eighth grade when his father walked out on the family and never came back. He had to drop out of school to help support his family. His story is a real hard luck one. I guess there are a lot of tough stories out there these days. It’s just that I feel so sorry for the kid. Think I’ll keep an eye on him. Maybe even be his “go to” guy when things get rough around here. Seems there are so many young boys in this Army. Sometimes all they need is someone older to help them get through this period in their life.
Right now I’m thinking of riding to town with you on your way to work. Pretty soon I’ll be dreaming of you. I’m already thinking of when I can get a furlough, but that won’t be until after my thirteen week cycle of training is over. After we are here a while we can get a weekend pass for good behavior which lets us out at noon on Saturday until midnight Sunday. But there are so many places we can’t go on account of unsanitary or moral conditions that I’d just as soon sit here and spend a little time writing to you.
Well, sweetheart I’ll close now and send you all my love. Hope to see you in my dreams. Good night dearest, your Warren.
August 1942 Charlie
Dear Mother and Violet,
I got a high score on tests here at Camp Crowder. They said they are going to line me up for the best jobs they had which was clerk in Washington, D.C. for a code man. Don’t know if this will work out or not. As the fellows say, “they promise you lots here.” I’m kept so busy I don’t have time to get homesick. Had to go to a War Bond drive meeting, then scrub and prepare barracks for inspection today. Last night we slept without sheets and pillow cases so we could have clean ones for inspection. Most of the fellows have the CCC (Camp Crowder Croup or the common cold).
My shoes fit fine. Hopefully they will feel sufficiently broken in before we start marching. We have to march ten miles, then have lectures in classrooms. The Army sure gets up early in the morning.
Yesterday I was given my first typhoid shot. It made my arm sore. It’s almost useless today so I guess I’ll stop writing for now. Love, Charlie.
August 1942 Violet
My dearest soldier Warren,
I’ve read your letter three times now. Before bedtime I’ll read it a fourth. Today has been so quiet and blue. Tension and worry got to me. Even though the weather was hot outside, the house felt cold. I shook from fear for you. I didn’t want to hear anything and couldn’t stand the quietness. I shouldn’t weep on your shoulder like this, but I miss you terribly. I suppose as long as I have your love sweetheart I’m happy, even if you are far away. I always look forward to your letters. They mean everything to me.
I stopped by the bank today to deposit my check then stopped by the bakery. We owed 368 dollars with only $247.80 dollars to apply. A deficiency of 120 dollars. Mr. Russelman is late on the lease payment for the bakery. I’m glad we found someone to rent the bakery out to, but when he doesn’t pay on time it makes us late with our payments.
It was dark outside before I realized how late it was, so I went to Dixie’s soda shop for a sandwich and a malt. There were so many people around town. Although it was the same place and it was filled with familiar faces, it seemed bare and strange to me. Dixie’s was crammed with soldiers and their sweethearts. The jukebox was going. (A coin-operated machine.) Even the streets were filled with laughter. It was a regular boom town Saturday night. A lot of people were waiting for the bus. Many took the bus because they didn’t know the condition they’d be in later that evening.
I also saw Bill Weston in town. He was rather shabbily dressed, but a good man. I found out today that he nearly died in an accident. A car hit him as he got off the bus. Isn’t it odd that Bill would survive WWI only to be hit by a hometown car?
Tomorrow I will go to church. I can’t help but feel that with so many good Christian soldiers the United States has, we’ll come out all right without much more loss. England has warned France to vacate the coastal regions for a surprise attack anytime. I hadn’t thought they’d attempt it for months yet, maybe it’s to divert Hitler’s actions against Russia.
Next time you get a chance, take a picture of yourself in uniform. I do so love you in your uniform. You look so proud. You are my brave soldier.
Many say the war will last three years. One and a half years to prepare and the rest to do the job. I’m hoping and praying it will be less.
Enclosed is a letter I just received from Charles. Thought you would enjoy it. I’m sorry I started this letter out so blue. I’ll be okay tomorrow. And on Monday, I’ll be working and busy. Work really keeps me from worrying about you. I hope you like the baked goods I’m sending you. I send it with all my love. Maybe it will fill out your cheeks again and make you feel like you’re at home with me. I made some for Charlie too. Well good night now, dear. Yours with love….Violet.
August 1942 Warren
My Beautiful Wife,
I received your baked goods. What a treat! Naturally I shared with the other men in my platoon. We all do that when we get a care package from home. Although I must admit it was hard to part with your banana nut muffins.
I just completed rolling my field pack. It consists of a haversack and roll carrier, a pup tent and poles, wool blanket, one canteen and cup, knife, fork and spoon, towel, suit of underwear, one pair of socks, handkerchief, razor, shaving brush, soap, toothbrush, tooth powder, comb, raincoat, and pick. Then you carry a gun with a bayonet and have a first aid kit on your belt. We’ll have a three day hike for about 28 miles. I’ve heard lots don’t make it. This old fool will though. Guaranteed! Maybe I’ll just keep walking till I get up your way.
Another new recruit told me he heard that effective October 31st the whole country is going to adopt a 35MPH speed limit. Maybe when I get a furlough I will walk there. Probably be faster. Almost no point in getting gas ration cards.
The buzz around camp says we may go to a combat unit as soon as we complete our thirteen weeks of basic. I suppose the Army is short on men. Usually after basic they send you to advanced training. Hopefully it’s just a rumor and not fact. I can’t imagine being any further away from you than I am now sweetheart.
Can’t understand why we’re so far behind with the bank. These are tough times. All I make as a private is 50 dollars a month. Hardly enough to get a wax job on the car or on my head, but I’ll send it all your way. I don’t need much here. Just enough for haircuts and cigarettes. USO shows are free. Some guys gamble, but I don’t have extra money to wager. Besides, I’d rather visit with you.
Sorry to hear about Bill Weston. Luck sure hasn’t gone his way during the past year or so. He hasn’t been quite the same since the loss of his son at Pearl Harbor. Sure hope he gets back on his feet again. He deserves a break.
I had my second typhoid shot today. Barely felt it. Can’t understand why it affected Charlie so. Could be his system is weak from that cold that’s going around camp. Charlie would be fortunate if he got a job clerking in the codes division. I hear it’s an interesting job. Course, after the war trying to find jobs breaking codes is going to be tough.
As I sit her under the lights outside my barracks, the moon shines down on the company over on the next street. They are moving out silently for night maneuvers. Sure is a somber sight. The moon is almost full tonight. I wonder if you are seeing the same moon as me. I can almost see the man smiling in it. I’ll make him wink at you just for me.
Well sweetheart, guess it’s time to turn in and dream of you. Your faithful and loving husband…Warren.
August 1942 Charlie
Dear Mother and Violet,
I received the baked goods you sent. They were good. Still have some left over, but I have to keep them hidden in my barracks bag, otherwise the guys in the unit will want some. I don’t particularly like the men in my unit. They’re too gung ho for me. Army life is very impersonal. Don’t see me making any longtime friends here.
Yesterday we hiked five miles wearing our leggings, cartridge belt, canteen and gas mask. Sure was a load to carry. My lips got chapped, face got burned and I sprained my knee. Last night I put on some Absorbine JR. and suntan oil, but it was too late, it didn’t help at all. Now I’m using camphor ice for my lips. I was using mentholatum on my face and lips, but it just made the condition worse.
I’ve heard rumors that they’re going to release all men over the age of 38 from active duty. I’m going to look further into that rumor and see if there is anything to it. Sure would like to get out.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to drill tomorrow with this knee. It still hurts when I put pressure on it. Oh well, will close for now…love Charlie.
August 1942 Violet
My sweetheart Warren,
It simply thrills me to see you write the name Mrs. Warren Gray on the outside of the envelope. It means that I am your wife, one half of a couple, and I am only one half of a Gray without you. Every one of your letters means such joy to me.
Just had a bunch of kids come by on a scavenger hunt. They wanted a skeleton key. I had a junk box full of stuff down in the basement. I gave them all kinds of goodies from it, plus the key they requested. They were delighted.
Do you remember the little colored boy who used to cut my mother’s grass? His name is Eddie. He’s a Methodist. I thought he was too young to get drafted, but apparently not. Anyway, I guess he’s in basic training right now at Camp Wolters. Do you ever run into the colored groups? You’d probably remember him if you saw him. He’s small and timid and has one eye that’s not quite right. It’s kind of reddish looking. He’s a very good boy. If you could keep watch for him and help him along I’m sure his folks would feel grateful.
Ronald Crawford came back from the war last week. Mrs. Crawford said that Winnie was waiting for two and a half hours at the station, but he didn’t show. When they got home, there he was sitting on the front porch steps holding the dog in his arms with a cane perched on his lap. Apparently, he’d been shot and hadn’t told them. He said it wasn’t that serious and his leg would be back to normal in no time. Mrs. Crawford said she was so happy to see him she didn’t scold him until a week later about the fact that he hadn’t told her he’d been wounded. I guess no matter how old you are or how much you have gone through, your mother is still your mother and you are still her child.
Today I put up a new shade in the bathroom window. It’s red and white check with about one inch squares. It adds a nice color to the room. I also made the September payment on the farm. There was just enough in the bank account. I may have found renters for the farm. I’d like to find someone to keep up the place until you get back and we can go home to it again.
I’m sending your Field and Stream and Reader’s Digest with this letter and Charles’. I have also enclosed the newspaper. I especially like the “personal ads” section. Got a real laugh out of the Manpower advertisement. “Wanted: registered druggist - young, old, deaf or dumb. Must have license and walk without crutches.” From now on, I presume drugs will be pretty easy to come by. Of course I don’t need any drugs. All I have to do is think of you and I’m swinging on a star.
I’m looking up at the moon tonight and I’m certain that the man in the moon winked at me. I know it must be you. So I winked right back.
I must get going to bed now. Just finished washing my hair. I have to work in the morning. It’s unusually cold here tonight. I’m sitting at the radiator in the dining room. I pulled out a little table, lamp and chair. It’s nice and warm and happy too. I feel real good. Almost without worry for some reason. I believe I’m having more faith in God and I’m just praying for your safe return.
Good night dear heart - Love and kisses to you… always your Violet.
August 1942 Warren
Dearest Violet,
I had another nice sweet letter from you today and my Field and Stream came also. Sure sounds like Charlie is having a tough time adjusting. We’ve been keeping busy. We had a six mile hike, pack rolling, close order drill and lectures all day. Then late afternoon we had a game of volley ball. My buddy Jeff Hill and I chipped in together and bought a two dollar camera and took pictures of the game. We’ll go to the P.X. to get them developed. I’ll send them to you as soon as I can. Just remember I’m not a professional photographer. They won’t be too good.
Yesterday, when I was out on the firing range Sergeant Burke said that I was the best shot he’d seen, but there was another platoon that had a good sharpshooter and he wanted me to compete against him. Well guess who it was? That kid from Kingston, Texas. We were both shocked to see each other. Suddenly there was a crowd around us. I think some of the guys were betting on the outcome. Well, I couldn’t believe how well this young kid could shoot. He out shot me by one bullet. When I asked how come he was such a dead aim. He said, “Mr. Gray, when I was hunting, if I didn’t hit what I shot at, my family wouldn’t eat.” Made perfect sense to me. We had a real good talk after that. He’s a pretty impressive boy, but I still think he’s awfully young. Why, his face hasn’t even seen its first ingrown hair. The only way he’s going to have any sign of a five o’clock shadow is if we have a solar eclipse.
Tonight, I was cleaning my guns and washing windows to prepare for a general inspection tomorrow, when Lieutenant Welles walked up to me and said, “Gray, I’d like to send you to non-com school because I think you’re good enough to go to Fort Benning Officer School.” Guess I got pretty good test scores. I’m not sure what to make of it. I never thought of becoming an officer. Even though it means more money, I’m just not sure I want the responsibility at my age.
Sergeant Nichols asked what I did before being drafted. I told him I owned a bakery. He’s going to test me out tomorrow in the kitchen. Actually, the baker’s job might be better. I won’t have to go so far away from you and it means a pay raise.
Violet, I do remember little Eddie doing many odd chores around your mother’s place. I’ll snoop around and see if I can find him, although this is a pretty big place. Chances are I won’t, but it would be good to see someone from back home.
I’d give five years of my life to see you and kiss you sweetheart. I love you as always, only a little more. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.
Well, sweet, it’s about lights out. The Chaplain was just here to see us all and talked a few minutes, so I’ll say good night to you. I hope I dream of you tonight. All my love dear, your own…Warren.
September 1942 Charlie
Dear Mother and Violet,
Yesterday, I hopped a railroad car and went downtown in St. Louis. Bought a cheap wristwatch which comes in handy around here. Overheard some of the guys on the train say that we’ll be going to the signal corps. The signal corps ranks second to the flying corps. You have to rank pretty good in your tests to be sent there. Sure hope it happens. I don’t like it here at all.
My knee is still in pretty bad shape. It keeps me from drilling. It just can’t be helped. It hurts just to put pressure on it.
The hours here are terrible. Most complaints are about wakeup calls and the mess hall. I’m still not used to the hours and haven’t had a decent meal since I left home.
I’m getting better as a stenographer every day. Hope it leads somewhere. Will close now. Love…Charlie.
September 1942 Violet
To my soldier Warren,
I’m sitting on the front porch swing tonight while I’m writing this so my handwriting might be a little shaky. Of course just thinking of you makes my hands shake with excitement. The flowers in my pots are so beautiful I almost dread looking at them. Somehow flowers don’t thrill me unless you’re here. It seems like they shouldn’t be so pretty when we all feel so badly.
I got a letter from your folks. Bob had a physical examination for the Army. Your mother is beside herself. I don’t know how she’ll cope with two boys in the war. Thank the good Lord Ralph couldn’t go. I don’t know what Myrtle would do with three sons in. Please send your mother and father a letter Warren. If you have to skip one to me I’ll understand. Right now your mother needs to be reassured that everything will be all right.
All of you boys are too good and kind-hearted to be there. No one but beasts should have to train for battle. Oh, I say this, but you know there is no use. We can’t change things, just pray for something to happen to stop the war and bring peace.
Honey, I’m proud that Lieutenant Welles thinks so highly of you to consider sending you to officers school. It is a real acknowledgment of your performance. But working with Sergeant Nichols may be a better idea. If you took the baker’s job it might keep you in the United States. Of course, this is entirely your decision my sweet. I’ll love you whether you‘re covered with mud or flour.
Now for some sad news. Remember Glenda? I work with her at Gibson’s. Well, she got bad news the other day. She received a telegram from the commandant of the Naval Air Training base that her son died in a plane crash while training. He was an ensign in Jacksonville, Florida. Her daughter said Glenda fell to her knees when she heard the news. I guess she cried for days. I was wondering why she hadn’t come to work. How awful that a mother raises and nurtures a child to adulthood, just to lose him this way. It is all so scary and sad.
These are scary times. Every night I lock up the house and stairway door. I’m not used to such things, but these are different times now. The nights seem longer and more frightening. Most virile men have either been drafted or enlisted. Us women are home alone. We’re not use to the roll of protector. Guess we’ll have to learn. Of course, once morning comes I find there really is nothing to be scared of. I suppose I’ll eventually get used to it.
It’s getting colder now. The summer breeze has faded and been replaced with the chilly wind of fall. I look forward to cooler weather and the changing of the leaves. Before long Jack Frost will be nipping at my nose. Oh how I do love the four seasons.
I think I’ll just close my eyes and sit on the swing a bit longer and daydream that you are next to me, holding my hand. I love you my dearest…Violet.
September 1942 Warren
Dearest Violet,
It’s now 5:40pm and I’ve had supper and am waiting for 6:15 when our company has to go to the recreation hall for another lecture tonight. We’ve really been on the go today. I learned how to post and patrol, guard prisoners, etc., then had tactical maneuvers. Hiked five miles with all our equipment. Destroyed a make-shift machine gun nest. Then they had us go through the gas chamber with our gas masks on. They told us to take off our masks just before we got out. I held my breath and walked out. Once I was outside I had this burning sensation on my face, but that was all. Some boy’s eyes burned them terribly. Then we marched a ways and exploded gas shells of three different kinds all around us. I quick got my mask on and high-tailed it out of there. Later, I ran the bayonet course for a record.
I wrote to my folks yesterday. I hope that eases my mother’s mind a bit. Bob is the last boy to leave home so I imagine it is especially meaningful to see him get drafted. At least Ralph can keep an eye on mom and dad for us.
It was tragic to hear about Glenda’s son. I believe I met him once outside your building. He was waiting to drive his mother home. He had just received his driver’s license. She was so proud when he drove her away. He seemed like a fine young man.
I imagine there will be a lot of tears before this is all over. Guess that’s why mother is so worried about Bob. But Bob is smart. I have it in my gut that he’ll do alright in this war.
I baked 580 cinnamon rolls for Sergeant Nichols to test on the men. There was an overwhelming response. Everyone seemed to like my special recipe that I used at the bakery back home. The sergeant is pushing for me to be a baker. Probably a good place to be. It would mean more money to pay off those bills.
This afternoon while I was baking, the Texas kid’s company commander came into the kitchen requesting that he get transferred to the kitchen as a baker. Apparently the kid passed out cold during a close order drill. His C.O. has doubts about whether he can pass muster. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind having him in the kitchen with me, he’s a hard worker, but I think he’s set on being a foot soldier.
Well, sweetheart, it’s time to go to the lecture so I’ll say good night. I wanted to write this while it was still light outside. Tonight’s lecture may take quite a while. They are really pouring it on. Good night my love, all my thoughts and love to you dear…your Warren.
September 1942 Violet
My dearest Warren,
It sounds like they are keeping you guys busy. I can’t believe you are going through a gas chamber. Seems kind of dangerous. Almost like they’re going to incapacitate you boys before you can get overseas.
Mother is sewing a Red Cross dress. She wants to do her part for the war effort. She has so much stamina. She inspires me. I can’t match her as a dressmaker. She’s just a perfect seamstress. If it weren’t for the arthritis flare ups in her hand she could sew an Army full of Red Cross dresses.
Sounds like our Marines in Guadalcanal need more backing. They’re really getting battered. I just heard over the radio that several Marine companies were surrounded by Japanese forces near Point Cruz. Guess they are finally getting some support, but they say there were a lot of casualties.
The young Texas boy sounds interesting. What a hard life he has had so far. I hope he never has to go overseas. I’ll bet he’s the major breadwinner in his family. I think it would be good if you could mentor him a bit. He could probably use a father figure in his life. If he truly is as young as you think maybe the kitchen would be a good place for him. He sounds like a fine young man with a heavy responsibility. He’s probably sending all of his money back home, so remember to help him out when you can. I’m sure he’s short on funds.
Speaking of finances, I have a couple very interested in renting the farm. I don’t know them. Their last name is Easton. Let me know what you think about renting it out. I have to admit that it would help pay some of the bills.
Tomorrow I think I’ll finish waxing the Dodge with Davis Wax. That way the car will look brand new when you come home on furlough. I can’t wait. Sure hope you get one soon.
I’m glad you had time to write your folks. Your mother is terribly worried. Yes, I agree that having Ralph, Lois, and the kids around, will keep her mind off of the war. Although I doubt that it’s possible. I know I can’t keep my mind off the fact that you are gone. I miss you every moment of every day. We are not whole unless we are together. My life is nothing without you darling.
Well, I’d better end this letter before I start getting melancholy. I don’t want to cry myself to bed again. In the morning, my eyes are all puffy at work when I do.
Don’t pay any attention to me, I’m just feeling rather low tonight. I love you my wonderful husband. I’ll hold my breath until your next letter arrives. Your wife always…Violet.
September 1942 Warren
My lonesome wife,
I just received your letter. It bothers me that you cry yourself to sleep some nights. Wish I could be there to stop you from crying or at the very least, to wipe away your tears. When I married you I said I would never make you cry. I am so sorry that this has happened to us. I know I left you with a lot of trouble. Paying all those bills and keeping up with the bakery and the farm is a lot of responsibility. I am really sorry, but dearest I couldn’t help it. If I’d known about this war ahead of time I sure wouldn’t have started up a bakery or bought the farm. No pun intended.
Sergeant Nichols has me baking in the kitchen quite a bit. In fact, he says I’m a shoe-in to get a baker’s spot. I must admit though, it’s tough having baking responsibilities while continuing my training. Doesn’t leave me much time to write to you. I don’t even feel my head hit the pillow at night.
The kid from Texas came in on Monday. His C.O. had him report to the kitchen for training. The kid is adamant about becoming a combat soldier. I guess the fellows in his company have nicknamed him “baby.” Now he’s really determined to show them what he can do. I nicknamed him “Little Texas.” I hope it sticks. Wouldn’t want him to have that “baby” stigma hanging over his head for the duration of his service. He’s really not happy baking food or cooking. I’ll see what I can do to get him back to a fighting unit.
Tomorrow “Little Texas” and I are going fishing down at Lake Mineral Wells. That’s real close to camp. In fact, there are nice hotels there where you might be staying during future visits. Mineral Wells is quite famous for its crazy water. According to legend, a crazy lady would sit by the well all day and ask passersby to draw her some water. Apparently, the water had some positive effects on her illness and people took notice. Soon others started lining up for the water. Some began drinking it to ease their suffering while others used it for general health. If the water is that good for you, just imagine how healthy and big the fish might be. Anyway, “Little Texas” says he’s up for it.
I went to church yesterday and heard a very nice sermon. Funny how this Army affects one isn’t it. Kind of makes a Christian out of you while you are learning the business of becoming a soldier. Quite a contradiction.
I have to wake up early in the morning to make rolls for breakfast so I better stop now. I love you Violet. Do whatever you think is best about the farm and the bakery. I just want your life made easier any way possible. Your devoted husband…Warren.
September 1942 Violet
My dearest husband,
I wouldn’t have believed a year ago that this could have happened to us, but we’ve got to not think about it too much. It only makes it worse. I have the easier time, familiar places and faces here, but the fun is all gone. You don’t see any younger men around town these days, except in uniforms.
It’s been cold here. Dropped down to 46 degrees last night. It would have been nice if you’d been here to help keep me warm. Course, when I think things like that it just makes it harder.
Please don’t worry about the bills. We don’t have many bills since the stove, fan and refrigerator are paid for. Mr. and Mrs. Easton decided to rent the farm, so I believe that will help. Now, if I could just get Mr. Russelman to pay his rent on time, we could start catching up at the bank.
I listened to Mr. Churchill over the radio. He talked about how Mussolini, one man, has caused all this degradation to come to 40,000,000 Italians. Rather an appeal to Italian people to fight their government and come over to our side.
Oh, mother’s helper, Eddie came back from basic training the other day. Apparently he won’t be able to serve on account of his bad eye. He’s been discharged. He’s pretty upset about it. He wants to do his part in the war. I told him that his job at home was just as important as serving on the front lines. I said that some men have to stay behind to keep the home front safe. I hope it made him feel better because I meant every word.
This week I received a standardized form from your captain. There are blanks where he fills in the name of the soldier. It said: Headquarters 61st Infantry training battalion. During Warren’s stay here, he will be taught the basic knowledge which all infantry soldiers must know. This basic instruction is vital to his success in battle as well as the success of any unit. I urge you to impress on him the desire to learn as much as he can in his tour of duty. Furloughs and leaves will be granted for only the most urgent reasons.
When I read it, all I could think of was that I hoped this letter didn’t apply to you. There are several times in it where he encourages the family of Warren Gray to write to him. I don’t need encouragement. You are always on my mind. And I can only hope that they are wrong about the furloughs in the future. I realize you might not get one during basic training, but sure hope you can wrangle one afterward.
I’m glad you found time to go to church. We can use all the prayers we can make to end this war quickly. It’s comforting to know that God is on our side and will help us all defeat the evil that has established itself in the east and the west. I want you home where you belong. I love you my dear husband. Always yours…Violet.
September 1942 Warren
My wife,
I’ve talked to the other fellows here and the form letter you received is typical of what everyone’s family has received. I wouldn’t put a lot of credence in what it says. It’s just a standard government form letter.
It’s too bad about Eddie. I know how he must feel to not be able to participate. A part of me wants to be home, but the other part of me wants to participate and do my fair share in this fight. It’s funny how the guys who really want to get into the mix can’t because of some kind of disability, while others like me are torn between their loved ones, but are perfectly fit for duty.
Went fishing with “Little Texas” this past Saturday. We made some make-shift poles and got some line at the PX. Caught 22 bass. Cooked them up for some of the patients at the hospital. Made quite a meal. “Little Texas” is a quiet kid. He doesn’t say much at first, but once he gets to knowing you he opens up. You wouldn’t believe his story. After his father abandoned the family he dropped out of grade school and worked odd jobs at a filling station and a general store to support them. Then his mother died. He’s pretty much all alone raising his brothers and sisters. Before enlisting, the state forced him to surrender three of his youngest siblings to orphanages to ensure their care. He says someday he’s going to reclaim them. Knowing his determination, I don’t doubt that he will.
When we were fishing, all he could talk about was getting back to combat training. I could tell he wasn’t suited for the kitchen. He was miserable. I talked to Sergeant Nichols and got him transferred to “B” Company. I told his company commander that anyone who could shoot as well as he does deserves a second chance at becoming a soldier. “Little Texas” was grateful.
Today I baked 35 dozen muffins, 5 large sheets of apricot cobbler and a supply of cinnamon rolls for tomorrow. In addition to that I had hand-grenade drills. The Army sure knows how to keep you busy.
It hasn’t really cooled off here yet. Still pretty warm being this close to October and all. The kitchen gets so blasted hot here. I miss the cool nights of fall. Sure wish I could cuddle up to you and keep you warm.
I’d better turn in darling Violet. No rest for the weary here. I’ll be thinking of you before I close my eyes tonight in hopes of dreaming of you. All my love…Warren.
October 1942 Violet
My soldier Warren,
Your friend “Little Texas” sure sounds like a fine young man. The weight of his whole family has rested on his shoulders for so long. He’s an amazing boy. I’m glad you can be there to support him as a friend. I pray he comes out of this unscathed wherever he ends up.
I just read in the newspaper that Margaret West’s father died of a stroke. He’s been blind for two years. He was 72. Seems like just yesterday I was going over there to play with Margaret. Her father always greeted me when I’d come over. He used to sit on the front porch all of the time smoking a pipe.
There is some good hometown news. Roma Wolfe got married at the Episcopal Church this past Saturday. Guess her husband serves in the Navy. He was on leave. Just long enough for the wedding. He shipped out the next day. They’ll have to wait for a honeymoon.
Warren, do you remember Gert Hines? She works in my office. Well, she got a letter from a boy overseas. He’s an airman and says he hopes to be home by Christmas unless the Japs get him first. He said sometimes he feels like a sitting duck for anyone on the ground. He said the one benefit to being in the air is that he doesn’t have to see the faces of the men he kills. I suppose it does make fighting kind of impersonal.
According to Gert, she met his folks and they convinced her to write to their son. It’s starting out as sort of pen pals. Gert is really excited about it. I’m curious to see if anything blossoms from their relationship.
The radio just announced that some towers that broadcast power are being taken down. It said that there’s 50,000 to 80,000 pounds of steel in them and it’s needed for the war effort. They’ve scheduled several scrap drives in this area. I’m sifting through mother’s basement to see what I can find.
The radio also said that Hitler’s last speech lacked confidence, unlike the former ones. Our boys are impacting his influence over Europe. I want so desperately to believe that this nightmare is almost over.
I’m sending you some carbon paper so you can copy some of your letters to your mother and father. It will save you time from writing to all of us. Tell me when you need more. I’ll be happy to send it.
This morning, I flooded the carburetor in the Dodge on the way to work. Had to sit out in the cold weather for about an hour before the thing would start. I sure miss you driving me. I love how you used to put your arm around the back of my neck and cuddle. Oh my, when I think of the good times I get goose bumps and my heart beats so fast that I think I’ll pass out. I miss you and want you home. I know that sounds selfish, but I can’t help myself.
I better close for tonight or I’ll say something I regret. Sometimes I get so mad about this war I think I could probably win it by just talking to all of the other wives, (German, Japanese, British, French, and Russian), out there who have their loved ones in harms way. I’ll bet we could end this without another shot fired. Wouldn’t that be a wish come true. All my love dearest. I’ll be thinking of you. Always your Violet.
October 1942 Warren
Dearest Violet,
There’s a USO dance tonight. No point in my going. My dance partner is too far away. Besides, it’s more entertaining and restful talking to you honey. Every day I look forward to this time of night when everything is quiet and I can have this private moment with you.
I baked 500 muffins for breakfast, then 580 light rolls for lunch. Plus 5 sheet cakes and 45 apple pies for dinner. The boys really brag about my baking. They say it’s much better than the regular baker. Lieutenant Parker told me yesterday I could have my choice of working in the bakery or being with the rest of the platoon. I told the boys I could use the pay raise to pay off some bills. They understood, but said they’d miss me during the shooting competitions. I told them I would still compete.
Of course, just because I’m baking, doesn’t mean I still don’t do maneuvers with my platoon. Today I had to do the bayonet course and I got an experts medal on rifle shooting. Our platoon won the company contest on target shooting at the firing line. Afterward, Sergeant Nichols came up to me and told me I got the highest score on the range. Said he wasn’t so sure I belonged in the kitchen. Some of the boys got skinned noses, black eyes and cut lips. I’m sure I’ll have a sore shoulder in the morning. Course that has more to do with my age than the rifle kick. Frankly, I didn’t think the target was that hard. The bulls-eye was nearly as big as a jack-rabbit. Who couldn’t hit that?
Yesterday, I got what looks like an early Christmas package from the Eagles Lodge. They sent three packages of 50 cigarettes each, two sacks of peanuts, one roll of life savers, a kit with a mirror, a nail file, comb, styptic pencil, safety razor, short tooth brush and paste, shaving cream, and a 6”X4” bar of soap. It was really neat. I only wish I had some money to get you something really nice this Christmas.
Yes honey, I do remember Gert Hines. It wouldn’t surprise me if something came out of her relationship with her pen pal. There’s a lot of that going around these days. A letter can be very therapeutic. It’s a perfect cure for loneliness. Maybe something good can come out this war.
I’m sending you some pictures Jeff Hill and I got developed. It’s of the volleyball game we had in camp. Most of the pictures are a little blurry, but you can make all of us out. Jeff is the tallest guy in all of the pictures. Naturally, I’m the shortest. We’re perfect examples of Mutt and Jeff.
This little long distance visit with you is all I have here. That’s why I look forward to writing. Even if I have to go to the latrine to finish it off. The latrine is the only place with lights after dark.
I guess that’s all I have to report for now. Sure do miss you Violet. Can’t wait to see your lovely face again. With all my love….Warren
October 1942 Charlie
Dear Mother and Violet,
Sorry I haven’t written, but they have kept me so busy here. My knee is still hurting and keeps me from drilling. There is another hike this afternoon, but I don’t expect to take it. It just can’t be helped. They say that my injury won’t be adding on any more days to my stay here. I’m really glad of that.
Yesterday we were given several tests on electric and code subjects, and were interviewed. The man who interviewed me said I had a high score and was going to line me up for the best job he had, which is clerk in Washington, D.C. as a code man. They’re going to send me to a school to help prepare me for the job.
Warren sounds like he has a tough job being in the kitchen. When the boys get in trouble here they put you on KP. I wouldn’t want to do it. Everyone here is always complaining about the food. You’re not a good soldier unless you gripe.
I’ll be glad to get out of here. Really haven’t made any friends. Just put in my time. Hopefully the next time I write it won’t be from here. Will close now…Charlie.
October 1942 Violet
My sweetest Warren,
I’m feeling lonesome tonight. I just heard the radio play, “When the lights are on again, all over the world, and our boys come home again, all over the world.” Gee it sounded swell. I couldn’t get you out of my head. Tonight I’m going to sleep with your letter under my pillow for comfort.
I heard Mrs. Rickenbacker on the radio. It’s getting bad in the Pacific. Even with Eddie missing she said, “never, never give up.” She hasn’t given up on finding Eddie. She’s a very determined woman. I can only imagine how worried she must be for her husband.
I was doing laundry and got my fingers caught in the ringer, but it released before I was hurt bad. Luckily I didn’t break anything, just got skinned and bruised. The washing machine smoked too and smelled of rubber burning. I turned it off and oiled it. Guess that’s what it needed, because it’s working okay now.
We had a sticky, heavy snow last night. The weight broke off a lot of tree branches. Mother and I will get our winter coats on and gather them before the next snowfall. We’ll throw the wood in the burn pit out back.
Margaret West’s husband was laid off at Standard Oil because of gasoline rationing. She would like to work at a defense plant, but now with her father gone, is afraid to leave her mother home alone. She has to watch her very closely. Her mother always does something wrong to the stove, furnace, etc. She’s afraid she could start a fire in the house. I told her maybe Jim (her husband) could take the job instead. I’m fortunate that mother is so healthy.
Bad news, Mr. Easton, our renters from the farm, owes us 60 dollars and has only paid 10. I gave him to understand that I knew times were hard, but we also had bills to pay and couldn’t afford to help other poor folks when we’re poor too. He said he’s coming on Saturday with some more money. I hope Mr. Russelman has this month’s rent money for the bakery, because tomorrow I have to pay some essential bills.
Please don’t worry about me this Christmas. If I had one wish for Christmas it would be that I could see you again. But in our present financial state I don’t know when I’ll be able to come. Maybe if Mr. Russelman pays up.
Glad to hear you got a little something from the Eagles Lodge. They have been working very hard to get packages out to our soldiers. I volunteered with the bundling. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your package was one that I packed with my own two hands. Oh, how close that makes me feel to you.
I am so proud of your expert marksmanship on the rifle range. Keep up the good work. I just hope you never have to use your skills though. I know, that sounds selfish of me, but frankly, the only reason I wake up in the morning is to just get a letter from you. The rest of the day is a waste of time. I’m simply putting in the hours until my honey gets back to me.
I heard from Charles today. He said he might go to D.C. and become a code man. I’m not quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound like hazardous duty. Not as long as they don’t send him overseas. His knee is still bothering him though, and that keeps him from drilling with the rest of the platoon. Maybe that is a good thing. I’ll send along his letter.