Hospital in England
Pfc. Roy N. Van Arsdall
Hospital Plant #4112
APO 316
C/O Postmaster, N.Y., N.Y., APO470
February-June 1945
February 6, 1945
Dear Mother:
For the first time since we started I can’t even hear the guns, the skies aren’t red anymore, and vehicles drive by with lights. It’s really swell. Someone shakes me out of sleep and instead of guard duty, its breakfast he sets on my bed. Instead of some man its the nurse who scolds me for putting my feet on the floor. We have music, things to read, and the latest news. I’m given a big box of lemon drops and he says eat ‘em all - they’re good for you. No, I’m not hurt in the least and don’t seem sick. I think they’re gonna feed me good and let me rest and I think I’ll be back with the company in a few days. My mail goes to the company and I’ll get it when I return. Read February 4 Yank. I saw it.
Love,
Roy
February 8, 1945
Dear Mother:
I don’t know whether you got my last letter or not, but I’m now in a hospital in the vicinity of Paris. At least I saw a bit of it. Don’t get excited ‘cause there hasn’t been a bullet near me, nor am I very sick. I have some sort of liver infection that rest and a diet will fix.
Tonight’s diet was turkey, peas, asparagus, bread and jam, pineapple, and fruit juice. I run around in pj’s and am not bed ridden. Wont get my mail probably till I get back ‘cause can’t give my hospital address. Just write as usual. If I can’t go back to duty in 30 days I go to England. Feeling fine tho.
Love,
Roy
February 14, 1945
Dear Mother:
Well, I certainly move about, don’t I? I hope you got my letters from the other hospitals.
It’s now the end of a beautiful Valentines Day. I’m somewhere back in England in a good bed and listening to the radio. I find England rather beautiful, especially since everything is turning green. Got a mite sick coming over, but accommodations have been swell.
Don’t worry about me. I feel fine, only I can’t eat anything with fat in it. I’m sending for my mail tonight. Write to this address until further notified. Have no idea how long I’ll be here, but hope to rejoin my outfit soon. (All the fellows here are engaged in different kinds of handicraft.)
Love,
Roy
February 16, 1945
Dear Mother:
Doing pretty well now. Don’t exactly have to stay in bed, but I do have a nonfat diet and some pills to take. I have yellow jaundice, some kind of a liver trouble. You turn yellow and food wont stay down. (And, boy, for a week or more on the lines I had a time.)
There was a heavy fog here this morning. Keeping to tradition, I suppose. We have a very nice place to stay, tho, and there are no shells at all. Nurses are very nice.
Go ahead and write here, at least a few letters. Wont hurt ‘cause they follow me, but don’t send any packages.
Lots of love,
Roy
February 21, 1945
Dear Mother:
England seems to have all of spring today. There’s nothing left of war except the thunder of planes - always ours.
In the morning there’s usually a heavy fog, but it’s nice later. A couple days ago I parked out in the sun for nearly an hour. Not much sunshine that I’ve seen on this side of the pond.
I’m still in the same place and the same bed, but I feel OK and am up and down as I like.
By the time you get this I’m almost certain you should write to the Company. Whether you write here or there I’ll eventually get it, but it’ll just go all over the universe and be forever reaching me.
I couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of one of the fellows here this afternoon. His mother-in-law came to see him, but you’d think it was his own mother. He’s been here more than two years and married a girl from close by. He lives in Texas and I think she still believes all of the wild stories about Texas
There has been a very large number of US-English marriages. I believe the count is between 15,000 and 20,000.
Have you been hearing anything from my list of trouble makers? Good thing I scattered them well.
Right now I’m of a very different mind, but I’d be willing to play the hunch that I don’t hang onto any of them when I get back.
Things seem to be going pretty fair on all fronts, but I’ve learned my lesson already. I wouldn’t believe that it was about over if we had only one Jap and one German left.
What does Roger think of going to the U, or is he far enough along to think yet? I get bitter every time I think that I should be a junior, but I’ve learned to drift and not care.
Love,
Roy
Note: Following is a letter to my maternal grandparents, Sarah and Elias Reeves, written after I’d been in the hospital for about three weeks. They got few letters from me and I don’t recall writing to MamMaw Van at all - not enough time to cover more than Mother, the ‘girls’ and a few others from time to time. In view of my comments to them I’d guess the pamphlets they sent were for religious education of me and my cohorts.
February 24, 1945
Dear Ma and Pappy:
I’ll make no excuses about not writing, mainly because I haven’t any good ones.
I received the pamphlets just as I left for the hospital. I’ll read them, but the fellows usually don’t bother. All we have time for is mail. That can be read any time. When we aren’t keeping alive in one way or another, we’re dead asleep. That’s one thing there’s usually very little of. I’ve been four days with only about eight hours.
You know, the battle field will show a lot of things to a man. At times you think you’ve taken all a body could stand. More, plenty more, comes and you take that, too. You think things couldn’t get any worse, but they do. As yet I haven’t seen anything that the guys couldn’t laugh about after they got out.
It’s very true, however, that there is no atheist in the lines. I don’t believe a man could go up there not believing in a hereafter. I know it would be hard to get me up there if I thought that when I died that was the end.
The worst part of the battles, always, is before a shot is fired. You have too much time to think. When our Louie says, “Well, we attack at such and such a time.” Then is what we call ‘sweating it out’.
After we get into it - tired, cold, usually wet, and nearly always hungry - we get to the disgusted stage. (We have other words for this.) There’s no time to think; we just don’t care. I’m always glad when that attitude comes over me. I get along much better.
So far I’ve been very lucky. I’ve only felt the concussion of shells and the sting of dirt - no lead has touched me. I’ve gotten over being horrified at a dead or dying man. We consider it a dough deal and dismiss it from our minds. It doesn’t come back later as I always thought it would.
One morning two of our battalions attacked in knee deep snow. They were ready for us. By one o’clock that afternoon we’d lost over half our men. That night and all the next day we held their counter attacks. We withdrew with about one-fourth of our men. God was the only thing that could have kept a man through that. He must have been with me and the others. We thanked God for getting us out of that.
I’ve read in several places that people in the states thought we’d be crazed blood thirsty gangsters when we get back. We’d like to get hold of that person. We’d give anything we own to be out of the sound and sight of blood and guns forever. It’s something I can forget quickly as far as doing it is concerned. I’d certainly love to be in my little boat on the lake with nothing but a worm and a fish to hurt.
We’re doing lots better now, and have hopes of a finish soon.
I’ve been here in this hospital nearly a month now. Read all the books and worn out the cards. Longest I was ever confined. Feel OK now, but still can’t go. Should be out soon, though.
How’s everything at home? If they’d let me alone I might have been ready to make you great grandparents in a year or so. No?? OK - well, just give me a mite more time.
Love,
Roy
February 28, 1945
Dear Mother:
Just got promoted yesterday. I’m in class “C” which means I’m up and about - outside if I wish. Found the horse shoes, theater, etc. right off.
When I leave this hospital I’ll get a seven day delay in route. Everyone gets the same if they can scrape up enough pounds to live for a week here in England.
Speaking of pounds, I gained about 12 here in one week. I’m only about 150 now, but its more than I have been for a long time.
Write to my outfit now. Receive package??
Love,
Roy
March 1, 1945
Dear Mother:
Still the same old stuff - getting very dull, but its pretty darn nice.
When I came here I quickly acquired the handle of the great one - “Tall, Dark, and Meatless”. But the first week I gained 12 pounds. I now weigh 150 and am going on up.
Wrote to Ma and Pappy last night. Mostly a lot of bull to fill the space, but no lies.
It will be a full month before I get back, but you might as well write to the company anyhow.
Love,
Roy
March 3, 1945
Dear Mother:
Went back on regular chow today. Feeling fine.
There’s something I want you to do. I want you to get some film, and I don’t care how you get it. Then when the bushes around the house come in bloom get some pictures. When the locusts bloom get one of the house and down at the granary or there about. Get someone to take a picture of the three of you, and one of each in some natural pose like you would ordinarily be if someone came up. Get two sets and send one to me and one to Margie.
Love,
Roy
March 8, 1945
Dear Mother:
Got three letters of yours forwarded from the Company. Dated February 16. One V-mail and one had Betty’s letter in it. That and one from some gal at UK has been all so far.
I figure at least three more weeks before I’m back.
Hasn’t Tad got an APO number? If he’s a sniper he’ll have an ’03 with a scope (WW I rifle). But anyone snipes when there’s something to snipe at. He must have a squad if he’s a Sgt. Sniper doesn’t call for that rating. I know the 100th took a terrible shellacking around Bitche (sp).
Where’s Robert? How many #’s of tobacco? Been getting my money and bonds?
You’ve been writing side ways on your V-mail and wasting about 1 nches. It looks like this. (and I draw a little picture of how the words are to go on the page).
I don’t know anything to write. Probably be better when the last 5 weeks mail catches up.
See, you shouldn’t worry about me. Worried all February and here I was safe in England.
Love,
Roy
March 10, 1945
Dear Mother:
Haven’t gotten my back mail yet, but I did get a letter from my squad leader. He says they’re in a fairly quiet sector now. Half go out on the gun one day and half the next. The half off stay in town and have had quite a few shows. Of course I don’t know what goes now.
Yesterday some of us went on a tour of Cherborne Castle, and a Lady Victoria’s Castle. Lady Victoria is about 80 and lives there. The other is empty, built by Raleigh. Both very old and some really beautiful stuff in them. I’d rather sell it all and buy something more comfortable. Queen Victoria was her god mother. She took us all through the place and served tea. Had about six different kinds of cake.
I’m enclosing a piece of Belgium money. It’s worth same as French money. I’d like to send coin, too, but I’ll just have to carry that for the time.
When I get my seven day furlough I think I’ll spend it in London. Ky too far.
Love,
Roy
March 13, 1945
Dear Mother:
Got a good stack of back mail and your 8 V-mails all at once. I’m still here in the hospital. One week, two, 3 ????.
Just what is this? Mrs. T. sends you a copy of my letter to Margie?? There seems to be a vicious circle going on with my letters. I think I tell you all about myself that I tell Margie, and I don’t think I said anything in any of her letters it would hurt to read, but ………………………….! When I write to Margie I mean if for Margie. Just how foolish did I sound??
I’m sorry any of these girls found out my home address. They must be running you nuts. I don’t see what they find in me. Definitely no more writing to Ida. I wouldn’t have her on a gold platter. And Ruth Hughes can go to heck. Wilma’s a very nice girl. I’ll probably keep writing to her, but I know she and I couldn’t get along very long. Betty is very nice and she’d be fine. I just don’t love her---------enough. Margie is the one now. Of course she’s young, but figure it our for yourself. I haven’t a chance of getting out for two years. Say we finish here this summer, then we regroup and go after the Japs. How long will it take us to concentrate on them and how long to beat them after that?? Margie will be 20 then. By the time I’m ready to marry she’ll be plenty old enough to know better. Maybe something will happen to this war, tho, who knows!!
Anyhow, I don’t want you bothering yourself with any of these women. They are my headache. The T’s are OK, and Betty never gets out of line.
Thank Cox for the cocoa. I’ll probably get all that stuff here at the hospital, tho.
Tell Don he’d better try the navy. Otherwise they’ll give him 17 weeks and he’ll be a rifleman and go right over.
I hadn’t heard from Dad and didn’t know there’d been any money added. Helps a lot. Hope things don’t get so high that the little bit the boys do have wont buy anything.
I heard from Tom, too. No, I came by train from Paris to Cherbourg. Hope Pappy gets OK.
I’m well back in England. No war here.
What’s the bonds now? What ever comes home in cash, leave it so. If Dad wants to invest any or use it just himself go right ahead. Any time needed you are co-owner of the bonds, too.
How’d the tobacco come out? $? #’s? etc. Dad get his job?
There’s no use wasting space warning me about stuff I’ve been trained in for two years. Maybe some time one will get me, but I’m not going about looking for trouble yet.
What happened to the boys who got hot water on them?? Burned! The women?? Dead! A guy just gives her a short burst and says as unconcerned as h……, “Well, there goes a good ______!” No body feels like fooling with anybody there, most especially Jerrys.
The place where the two girls were was not taken. It was in sight of Forbach. How do we hide in snow? Dressed in mattress covers. Jerry SS men got through us every night in the snow.
There were blizzards. Snow got over knee deep. Got below zero. Jerry did a lot in his drive against us, but we had too much.
Don’t worry about cornered skunks. We get a guilty conscience from shooting them when we don’t have a good excuse. There’s always someone hoping one will try something, and they know it. When a guy starts out with 9 or 10 prisoners and gets there with 2 or 3 - well, do you think he lost ‘em or something?
Tell Roger if he can’t pass that algebra he’d better steal the exams and study up before hand. If he wants radio he’ll have to be up on his math.
Rog says Judy James and then Jane Gaskin. Now who? Wonder what happened to my old battle ax?
Weather fine, me fine, when you get this I’ll still be in England on my can. Write Thompson and maybe Fisk. Rest to h___.
Love,
Roy
March 16, 1945
Dear Mother:
Got another letter, after the eight, today. Takes 8 or 9 days. You can figure I’ll be here at least two weeks after this date.
I see our boys are on the move again. I know the ground they’re going over ‘cause I’ve been over some of it twice. I looked at Saarbrucken for nearly a month and watched some beautiful air raids on it.
Send a bottle of Vaseline hair tonic that will fit into an 8 oz package to my address in the company.
I have a nightly visitor - a mouse that likes my PX rations. He’s been into practically everyone’s.
Love,
Roy
March 26, 1945
Dear Mother:
Still here. Haven’t been put in rehab as yet, but expect it any day. My blood tests show normal.
I got five packages in the last two days. One from Wilma mailed in January and two from you, one Aunt Martha, and one Aunt Emma. All presumably mailed in December or before. Everything was in good shape. Only a couple candy bars were a bit soft, but they were OK. Thank the Aunts and let them know I appreciate them.
I also caught the mouse that has been visiting me. I feel OK and there’s nothing but lying around. Even less to write.
Love,
Roy
March 20,1945
Dear Mother:
I just got your February 20 letter. The one with the two airmail stamps. It was forwarded from the company.
I may have told you in the last letter that I only had two weeks left here. Well, I was a bit mistaken. Nothing serious and no difference in the way I feel. You see, there’s a blood test taken weekly. Mine, incidentally was off because today I was instead of being sent to rehab, put in class ‘D’ as bed patient again. I have no idea how long it will be. I only know that after I’m well I have two weeks rehab and a 7 day delay in route to repo depot.
Shame on you for even thinking I wouldn’t tell you if I was hurt. Besides, I think you’d get a ‘wounded in action’ report from ‘Uncle Sam’.
Here’s the case history. Sick two weeks before hospitalization. No appetite, vomit often, bowel disorders, urine very dark red or even resembling broth, later yellow in eyes and on skin and pain about liver, cigarettes tasting like rags. It was discovered when I turned yellow.
Thirty minutes after I went on sick call I was in the ambulance. That night I got to Saarburg. Next day I was sent to Paris by train where I stayed three or four days. I went as a litter case by train from there to Cherbourg, cross the channel and here, all lying flat on my back. If I’d been very sick I’d have been gotten here in a matter of hours by plane. Guys bad enough off get to the states from here in a matter of hours.
I’m perfectly happy and well cared for here. Of course it gets pretty tiresome day after day, but its very nice. I’m supposed to go back to my original outfit if I can take that type of work, and I can.
I hope you can get the Yank. They give a much better picture. A lot of the things we read, hear, and see on the screen make us laugh.
Tell Mrs. Lane not to worry about Tad. We all do the best we can, but sometimes it’s impossible to write. He’s in a tough sector and the Seigfried is still to be broken there.
Mrs. Thompson knows I love Margie, but you can tell her again if you wish. She’s everything I want and I think she loves me. I wasn’t sure for a long time, but I am now. You know the many times I’d go on a tear and think I had something. Then I’d forget all about it. I wondered about this. Three months away from any other girl would have cured me, but not so with Margie.
I think everybody will be in love with my Mother. They seem to think she’s pretty swell. So do I. She’s tops.
Wonder what if they’d see Dad and me get in an argument when one of those hogs got out of line? We had some good ones. But I think they even made me like him better. I wouldn’t trade any man for him. I’d do anything for him and I know he would for me. But I always did think he wasn’t getting what he should out of that setup. I never will agree, either.
About the same thing people say about you is true about Marge’s Mother. In fact, about her whole family. They were all so good to me. I felt in their house like I would at home. I hated to leave there almost like it was leaving home. I just don’t think there’s a better bunch no matter how things go.
When I left neither of us knew how we felt. I’d told her not to come to the train. She didn’t come. I was half hoping she would and then also afraid she would. You know how those train good byes are. But the rest of the family was there. Tom can also tell you how swell they are.
Tell all the people who’ve asked about me that I appreciate it. I don’t need anything now as we have a PX here. And I have about $40.
And I am not wounded. I’ve never lost a drop of blood to the Krauts. I’ve been stung by dirt and gravel, knocked down, and scared so that I could hardly hold a cigarette afterwards, but never hurt.
I guess that’s all for now. I’ve got to write to Margie. She’s a darling. I know you’ll love her.
Love,
Roy
PS - I’ve changed my mind. You and the Thompsons can exchange anything you wish. Send her any letter of mine you wish after you censor the other girls. I have nothing I wish to hide from them and I want Margie to know in every way possible that I love her. It’s very difficult way over here, but I’m sure we’ll make out.
March 30, 1945
Dear Mother:
I got a double air mail letter from you forwarded from the company. Mailed in the latter part of February.
You mentioned some things I’d asked for - like the grammar book and candles. I hope I don’t get them here at the hospital. Couldn’t very well use the candles. And if the Germans give up soon I’ll gladly throw the book away. I can hardly anticipate what things I’ll need and it takes things so long to come, but I’ve gotten on very nicely. If I asked for something I thought I’d like here, I’d probably be fighting Japs before it arrived. Everything so far has gone to good use tho. Don’t use up points that you can use at home. I’ll get along very well with the army.
I’m officially well now, but wont go to rehab for a day or so. Then after two weeks, my 7 day furlough, repo depot, etc.
Now listen, don’t let any of these girls bother you. You don’t have to write to any of them. I can very well handle them and if they don’t like what I do or say they can go hang. And don’t worry about any girl over here. There are several millions of us over here and we didn’t come to see the girls. We’ve enough to do.
Those girls at home can find a friend among the 4 F’s or whomever they please. (If I know girls they have one anyhow). If I don’t like things when I get back I’ll have a well arranged fight. Never fear - I can get along. Women are the least of my worries.
Now forget those girls. I wouldn’t like to make the Thompsons mad, but I don’t owe a soul anything, and neither do you.
Love,
Roy
April 2, 1945
Dear Mother:
I got your letter of March 22 today. I go to rehab tomorrow, so by past letters you should be able to tell how much longer I’ll be around.
As for the bombs, I’ve never heard or seen one. Besides, no, I think Jerry is just about deprived of his launching sites. I don’t think you should worry at all now. I’ll fight the Japs, but I’m not there yet so we’ll just take them in stride as we are the Germans.
I most certainly do not get bored by your letters. If they weren’t there I don’t know how things would be. Show me one guy who doesn’t want a letter no matter what’s in it.
We all get Yank so don’t send it. I’ll look them over when I get home. I’ll write to Punk, but you can thank him in the mean time. I don’t need anything here, but of course I can’t foresee the future of my supplies.
You said you had a picture of Mr. And Mrs. T. What do you think of them from the picture. Has she got anything interesting to say?
It’s twice now I’ve been told I looked like Henry Fonda. Once at the frat dance and by a Limey gal here.
Love,
Roy
April 3, 1945
Dear Mother:
First day of rehab over. Took a couple short hikes, but they tired me out.
Something happened today that hasn’t happened to me since I’ve been in or the other fellow either.
As I came up to the door of the rehab ward I heard a voice that sounded familiar. I tapped the owner on the shoulder and said, “Where you from, Joe?” He looked at me and grinned. We matched dog tags and they both said ‘Burgin, Ky’. That’s the first time either of us had seen that on dog tags other than his own.
It was Tom Coleman. He used to work with Elkin, Stevens thrasher, and around Haggers Camp. It tickled him. He was telling every one, “Why, I’ve known that guy since he was that high”. Measuring way down with his hand. I knew him pretty well, too.
He’s been over here 35 months and is Pfc. in the 103rd ack ack. And he is the only one I’ve known from home in these two years.
Got a letter from my squad leader. “Some where in Germany”, he signed. He says Krauts are giving up in long lines and the white flag is a common sight. No one has been hurt in my squad and he says they’re faring quite well, but always on the move.
Everything is fine.
So,
Love,
Roy
April 8, 1945
Dear Mother:
I’ve been getting a whole mess of packages lately. I’ve kept all the canned goods and will probably eat them on my leave. I also have the French and German books. I hope to get to use them, but circumstances seem to be going against me.
Been in rehab a week now, and everything is doing alright. My buddy, who’s married to the Limey gal out here, got a 45 day furlough at home. But he deserves it. He’s been overseas 41 months, 26 of which he spent in Iceland.
It’s just plum disgusting to have two wars to fight. The quicker you win one the quicker you have to jump into another. And the unconditional surrender we offer them has made Germany and will make Japan fight to the last straw.
I certainly wish I were back with my outfit now. I don’t relish being a replacement for some other part of the world and I’d like to keep my job as gunner on that 57 mm instead of a rifleman.
Don’t worry about the girls. None of them are going to have patience to wait long enough anyhow. I’d like to bring Margie home now, but it seems there’s going to be quite a passing of time before I can get within range of her again. The optimists tell us two years. Very encouraging.
Did you get my letter of a few weeks ago requesting pictures about the place and you and Dad?
I’ll send you the only picture I’ve made since I came over. I hadn’t been here long and the picture isn’t good at all. Bob Tota (Tojo) from Boston, Olivia McCoy from Ky.
I’ll ask for the cigarettes when I need them.
You mentioned Daisy being (maybe) in a fight with a ground hog. I can remember every one of those fights my dogs and I ever had. Mike and Dick were the best. And Queen still alive, huh?
So Edythe is going to get hitched? Is she going to wait till the war is over or marry the guy while he’s still able to hobble around.
Boy, sometimes I could blow my stack at the way this war is running. I’ve nothing to kick about compared to a lot of guys, but I’m counting years where I used to count months. Bull****. But, somebody told me I was mad at all these people so I guess I’ll go wipe ‘em out. (I ought to get a section 8 out of that - mental discharge).
Lots of Love,
Roy
April 10, 1945
Dear Dad:
I got a letter from you yesterday. I think it’s the only one I’ve received out of the several you’d sent. The one with the tobacco sales in it. Seems to have done pretty good - about $458, wasn’t it. With six raising 50 pigs, and 4 of them gilts, that’s not bad, is it. Are you using the hog barn? I’d like to see you back with hogs like we used to have. I don’t think I’d do too well at showing, but I think I could make a go at raising some.
I hope you can keep all the kinfolk off that farm. I wish we’d always had it to ourselves. You know what I always thot about that and I don’t think I’ll ever think different. There’s a lot of things I’d like to do, but it’s gonna be a long time before I can get started.
Looks like quite a lot to have to fight two wars together, but that’s the way it is. As long as a guy can fight they sure have a place to send him. You feel you’ve stretched your luck pretty far to have gotten this far thru one. And the Japs are going to be entirely different from Jerry. I’m not in the least anxious to go to the CBI, but it seems they want to do it all at once, and we’re the goat again.
You see so d--- many come and go while you’re up there that it just seems the law of averages will get you soon - not even counting trying your luck with the Japs for a couple of years. Sometimes it looks pretty hopeless to be an infantryman, but there’s nothing we can so, so we all get the ‘what the hell’, or ‘don’t give a d---‘ attitude and feel a lot better. Tomorrow is always another day.
I hope you get the job you want. It would be pretty good.
Is the car still running? Seems about time you were getting another. And I’ve always wanted to see a couch in the house. When people come in it doesn’t seem right to hand ‘em a straight back chair.
I don’t know what I’ll do when I get out. I wont be any kid when I get out. In fact I’ve kinda lost that aspect already. In years I’m only 20, but you’d never guess it by looking.
Found some horse shoes here at the hospital. That’s one thing I haven’t forgotten how to do.
Well, I’ll be moving from here shortly. I have 7 days to mess around England before I have to report in. Then, it would stump the Lords of London to say where I’m going. I want to rejoin my company. I know the guys and I can handle that 57. In the SP they used pack-carried 37 mm guns.
Tell Mother I got two more packages. Must have gotten a dozen or more now. Will mail the stuff to myself from here.
Well, till later,
Roy
April 17, 1945
Dear Mother:
You might remember both Margie and Betty for their graduations. I can’t send anything from over here in time. Send them both something nice. Take it out of my bank account. Make Marge’s a little better, but send Betty something around $4 or $5, maybe roses. Betty graduates May 13. I don’t know when Margie graduates, but somewhere in that time should be OK. Don’t send an order of flowers through the same green house. It might cause complications. You may write and say it is from me.
I was just fixing to ask about the package. Don’t think the camera is any good. Flag came from a Capt. in the SS (his home) in a little town just before the ‘Climb to Clembach’. The shrapnel was from one of our own 4.2 mortars that fell short very close to my fox hole. Shrapnel is very common. Like gravel. You see, thousands of tons of shells have been fired over here.
I received the letters from all your writers. Sure, Betty is perfect, so is T. mighty nice. Well - ???
I hope you get some nice pictures of things and the family. The tip was broken off the shoe when I sent it.
My health is very well. I’m just waiting around and having a good time till shipped. I think I have a bit of last winter left. My right leg around the ankle stays swollen and painful all the time. They keep it taped. We play horse shoes, base ball, and volley ball till we can’t move. It’s been pretty hot. I got a fair sun burn yesterday, but it’s OK.
I see Mrs. T asked you to come up this summer. Wish you both could make it. Bad to lose the President. Wonder if Truman will treat us right?
Love,
Roy
April 22, 1945
Dear Mother:
I’ve just been sitting here thinking about the dentist’s drill. I was eating some candy a while ago and a piece cam off my jaw tooth. Its one with the center filled and I know he’ll have to take out the old filling to get under. May just have it pulled.
My hair is coming out bad, too. I hate to be bald this early, but I can’t stop it. Just what is some girl gonna think of a bald headed man. Baloney, that’s what.
Still here in the hospital. Wish I’d go somewhere. I don’t care where.
Love,
Roy
April 24, 1945
Dear Mother:
Nothing new. Lectures, training films, bit of drill and details, and some games.
April 28-30 I’m going to Bournmouth at request of Red Cross. Am to spend two days in some English home. There are twenty of us going. Should be OK.
Did Dad get his job? Hope so.
I see they put in a request for more money to finance the college students after the war. I hope they do. $50 if single and $75 if married now.
It’s been pretty cold here the last few days. Especially after having been so hot. Wonder how hard Jerry will be to get out of the Alps. Looks like Berlin is gone.
Got a nice letter from Mrs. T and have been hearing from Margie, Betty and Wilma.
Love,
Roy
May 1, 1945
Dear Mother:
Still in the hospital, as you see. Don’t know when I’ll go out, but I know not for at least a week or so. Right now I’m soaking me feet in a solution to kill athletes foot. I presume that’s what it is. Have it pretty bad. Think I told you I was going to Bournmouth at the Red Cross’s invitation to spend two days with the English. Twenty of us went, two to a home. They sent us only to the very best and we had a swell time. This fellow was general manager of the gas and water works for a large area. Had everything - very nice furniture, three bath rooms and very beautiful gardens about. Not eating, flowers. You can tell by the picture of his home how it was.
He has a record of every Yank who has been there, gives them a picture, writes to them and their parents, and offers a home whenever you’re around. His house was just ten minutes walk from the cliffs over looking the channel. He will write to you.
Looks like the ETO war is about over. I hardly think I’ll ever hear another gun over here, but you can never tell. Now if they could just persuade the yellow boys to quit before I arrive---.
Love,
Roy
May 6, 1945
Dear Mother:
It’s now three months and two days since I was hospitalized. Quite a time if you had to pay civilian rates, no? But I haven’t been what you’d call sick for some time. And this isn’t such a bad place.
Been listening to Jerry throw in the towel over the radio. Looks like they are about washed up. I’d feel a lot better now if the Japs would just decide they couldn’t make a go of it. I don’t think there is a single man that isn’t positive we can beat the Japs. It’s just that it’ll take time and somebody will get hurt doing it.
I notice they raised the time of service over here from 30 to 40 months for UK based troops wishing for the rotation furlough. I’d rather take my chances fighting again.
I’m one of the mail orderlies for rehab now. Work from 8-11, 1-4, 5-6. Not bad at all only I haven’t gotten any mail for about 5 days. My own fault for telling people were to write and my Company to hold mail, etc., when I don’t know when or where I’m going.
Have you been hearing from the T’s? Probably since Jim is home Mrs. T wont think much about writing. Did you get the two girls something for graduation? And the pictures I asked you to take? Will let you know as developments proceed.
Love,
Roy
May 8, 1945
Dear Mother:
Well, today the guys who started to squash the world when I was 14 years old are no more. It’s VE day here, and it is there. What do the people think at home now?
Here, you’d never know anything out of the ordinary had happened. I haven’t heard a single shout. There is nothing said except that it’s over. Maybe because we know we’ve yet the Japs to whip; maybe because we knew the Germans were whipped anyway. I don’t know exactly.
I had a 48 hour pass coming this morning. All passes were canceled indefinitely. We’re to have a nice little parade here on the grounds. I’d rather work. When we get home where we’ll feel like celebrating the people will have forgotten there was a war. We were meant to fight, not celebrate, anyhow.
When you growl about not getting a pass on VE day you think of all the guys you knew who’d like to have a pass, too, but who never came back. That sobers things up a lot and makes you glad it’s over and feel pretty darn lucky just to be around. You can well say, ”It might just as well have been me as Joe. Only a few feet or inches.” And I guess you know I’ve really been lucky to have been here in the hospital this long.
By the way, I’ll be here two, possibly three more weeks. That’s so I can be checked and kept under observation. They’re not entirely satisfied. I wouldn’t let them put me in temporary limited assignment as that would make it almost impossible to get back to the 411th once I was general duty again so they’re keeping me here the limit of my time (120 days is as long as you can stay). And no l.a. Don’t be looking for me home. I’m qualified in every way, AI, for a Jap exterminator.
Love,
Roy
May 10, 1945
Dear Mother:
We have about finished celebrating VE day for the time being. Couldn’t get a 48 hour pass, but we did get a pass each night. Things were really wide open. You never saw so much decoration in a little town in your life. My buddy and I started out with five ATS girls, but ended up with a couple cute sergeants. I’d like to have been in London.
Did you see in the paper where my regiment was the first to link up with the 5th Army? Last I heard they were eight miles inside Italy.
When you get this letter don’t write any more till you hear from me. I’m getting a change of address which I do not know now, so don’t send mail to my company. Just don’t write. I’ll keep you posted as long as I can. Don’t know yet when I’ll move, either, but shouldn’t be long.
Write maybe a couple times ‘cause I might not leave soon.
Love,
Roy
May 13, 1945
Dear Mother:
Sunday afternoon and I’m still in the hospital, but the war on this side is definitely over. Seemed to go very slow and such little bits at a time last winter, but all those little pieces ended with a terrific bang.
Last couple days it’s been pretty hot. We have to wear OD’s. The US Army never goes into sun tans over here.
I guess you heard the point system over the radio. Helps a lot of guys, but of course didn’t do me one whit of good, but, so what? Tom Coleman is still here. Guess he’ll get out ‘cause he went all thru Africa. Those boys have been far enough that they should get out.
I’m not in the least interested in going to the Pacific, but at least I’ll know a bit more about the score. Coming in over here we didn’t know the difference in the scream of one of their shells and one of ours. Now we’re like band leaders. Can always tell when that sour note comes.
Anyhow, lots can happen before we get into the Japs good. No use worrying at all. Where I’m going I’m going, and what ever happens, will. That’s a much better mood to be in.
As I said before don’t write much if any more. Can’t tell you change for military reasons.
Love for now,
Roy
May 14, 1945
Dear Mother:
Just got the pictures. They were swell. Things look a bit different from what I remembered, but they haven’t taken a change for the worse. They look better.
Is Rog starting a wave there in front? If there’s going to be a wave in the family he’ll have to be the owner. First time I’ve seen the mess of dogs, too. And that Queen seems to be perpetual.
Are you keeping up the flower garden? Ask Dad as a favor to me to have someone fix it up the way you want it. And don’t let him say they can’t spare a man. Up there when they want an attack we don’t say we just lost half our men, we don’t have enough. So get it fixed, Dad.
Yes, send Margie a bunch of those pictures. My, what am I going to do with these three girls? I think for sure I want Margie, but you know I haven’t seen her for nearly two years. I’ll have to see her and confirm things for sure.
The censor didn’t scratch out anything important on that letter. Don’t worry about it.
Love,
Roy
May 15, 1945
Dear Mother:
Just got back from town. Go in nearly every night. Still a patient, but nothing much wrong with me. Got the letter written on BHS invitation tonight.
Margie will not like me better if she doesn’t see you. If she doesn’t like you, then she doesn’t click with me either. There are plenty of girls, and they’re all over the world. I don’t worry about any of them.
The locket you sent her should be OK. She can appreciate it if she wishes. If not that’s just tough. I know Betty will like the roses. Don’t know what I’ll do with all of them when I come back. I’ve already been threatened that when U get a furlough I’d better see them or send an invitation or else. Bull………………………………!
I’m surprised you ever heard from the ‘old battle ax’. Where is she and what is she doing? Married?
Tom Coleman said Della Hazelett wrote that Hugh King got in a bit of trouble. What?
How are things at home? Around here they’re going swell. Oh, yes, panties for Margie. Tsk! Tsk!
Love,
Roy
May 21, 1945
Dear Mother:
Unit censorship has been lifted so we can say about what we wish. I guess there’ll still be spot checking at base, tho.
You know I was at Shanks. I left Brooklyn Yards October 5 on the USS Monticello, a big Italian liner. Pretty uncomfortable ride. About ten days out we hit a bad storm and were nearly swamped. Two days from the Rock we passed two tankers burning.
We rode four days on the old French 40 x 8 box cars they had in the last war. We could see what the air force had done on the way up. It was pretty awesome the first night when we got close enough to see the flashes and hear the big guns. We went right into the mountains and it snowed hard the first day. Since we couldn’t use our AT gun they made assault squads out of us with bazookas and 50 caliber. After the first battle we had to carry the wounded back over a mountain at night. It took us nearly a month to get out of the mountains. Just before we got out I had my closest scrape. An 88 mm on the hill was firing straight into main street. There we lost all three gunners and a few other men. I got knocked flat three times in about as few minutes. Walls kept us from getting off the street.
Barr was another large town - full of snipers and we lost 14 tanks. Then Woerth, Clembach, Wissembourg. The bulge came. We moved 100 miles in a day and a half. Up around Forbach and Saarbruken. Then the worst kicking we took. They tried to take Strasbourg back. We got pushed around quite a bit there (not far from Haguenau). We were lucky to get out at all. Then February 4 I started back - Saarburg, Paris, Cherbourg, and here to the hospital on Lord Digby’s estate just out of Cherborne. I’ve been to Yoville and Bornmouth. Let you know as things progress.
Love,
Roy
May 23, 1945
Dear Mother:
Yesterday I got about 25 letters, mostly of the latter part of April. Got two today from you. One was May 16. A few days ago I got the pictures that were taken last fall. I guess that’s all you’ve sent.
This is a letter I’ve been wanting to write for a long time, but I hate to cause disappointments so I just kept quiet. Something unforeseen can always happen. You know I think now I can safely say, “I am coming home!” I’ve known it for about three weeks, but I just didn’t want to say for sure.
The first bunch left today by troop ship. Tom Coleman was among them. He’ll probably be around soon.
I’ll have to go to a hospital first, but I’ll get a furlough soon after I get there. It will be at least 21 days.
You know now that something can always change plans in the army, but I’m pretty sure. By the time you get this letter I may be on the water or in the air on my way back. May leave in a week or it may be several. Just can’t say. Anyhow you’d better dust off things at home. How’s the car? I’ve got to sweat out what I’m going to do about this girl situation. I’ll have somebody home for sure tho. I’ll call you first chance I get when we get in.
Take everything with a grain of salt. But this is something I’ve been wanting to write and I guess you’ve been wanting to hear.
Love,
Roy
May 27, 1945
Dear Mother:
Still here but will be leaving shortly (few days) for the USA. Don’t know just how things will work, but it will just be a stopover with a furlough. Good enough to get home before the Japs, tho. I could have gone straight on from here.
Fix up the summer clothes I have there. Pick up a roll of 12 # nylon line if you can. Should get a chance to use it. Do you think anyone around home would let us use a couple saddle horses for a few days? If one of the girls does come down I’d like to have a couple of horses and saddles for a while. See what Dad can do. Didn’t Waggner have some?
Hear from Betty all the time, but Margie’s have been shy in the last couple of weeks. Don’t know whether they have been going to the company or not. Anyhow nothing bothers me much any more. If she needs it I can certainly put her little wagon rolling. I’ve got a couple too many in the way any how.
You’ll get a couple more letters and then after a short delay a phone call. OK?
Love,
Roy
P.S.- Of course there’s always the unforeseen.
May 29, 1945
Dear Mother:
Stayed in tonight. Rained all afternoon and is still at it. This part of England is OK, but it sure does rain. Stays fairly cool, too.
This was to hold PW’s. Now PW’s are tearing out all the wire and fixing up the place preparatory to giving it back to the Limeys. Boy, the US pays for every little scrap they got off these people. This is on Lord Digby’s estate, you know. His castle is only ile away. It’s about five stories and built like an ‘H’ in honor of one of the King Henries. Raleigh built part of it. Make a nice ‘joint’ for entertainment if fixed up in the states, but I wouldn’t wish to live there.
The girls here are beginning to hurt now. The Yanks have been keeping them going pretty well. The Limeys never made as much as we do and don’t spend like we do. Also there aren’t too many here. I talked to one guy who’d been a PW since Dunkirk (five years). The girl I go with works 5 ays a week in an AC plant. Her maximum pay is 30 shillings or $6.00 a week, and she can’t quit.
Everyone has left here except a few of us - less than 100. Just enough to take care of the details. Quite pleasant and almost nothing to do. Passes every night. And the longer I stay here, the longer it will be before I hit the Pacific. Can’t tell what may happen there. They’re fighting pretty hard, but those old super forts are burning out the heart of Japan. I saw what they did over here. I also saw what tanks did when they went through a town.
Don’t tell any of the girls I’m coming in. I’ll have to straighten that out myself. Just oil the door hinges and set another plate at the table. OK? And see if there’s a possibility of those horses and saddles. There should be. And the car runs? My Khaki uniforms OK? I’ll tell you when I’ve written my last letter from here. But remember this is the army and always unpredictable. Wilma says, “You must have about 40 points.” I’ve 41.
Love,
Roy
June 7, 1945
Dear Mother:
I should have been in the US by now, but as long as I stay here, the longer it will be before I have to do something else.
There are still only a few of us here and we’re just waiting. I know the big Queen liners are in Southampton now. Maybe we’ll get on one of them.
Don’t plan anything except what I ask for. I don’t want to mess around in lengthy affairs with relations. A meal is OK. If a girl comes I would like a couple of horses, tho. Clean a couple of my summer caps.
Margie said she was sending you a large picture and me a small one. Heard from her yesterday. Graduation rushes. This isn’t my last letter from here.
Love,
Roy
June 9, 1945
Dear Mother:
You can file this letter as an historical document. Why? Because it is the last letter you will get from the ETO from Pfc. Van Arsdall.
I hit a shipping list this morning. It says leave on or about the 10th or 11th, so you can guess when. Maybe I’ll beat the letter.
Margie said Edythe said Tom had been seriously wounded but was recovering. Here’s a letter from a guy from my squad. Fair story of their trip after I left.
Love,
Roy
Recollections……
Four months in a hospital in the English countryside made few lasting impressions on me. A ward full of guys in pajamas is what my mind’s eye first conjures up. PJ’s were our standard uniform round the clock for weeks. Why the PJ’s? All of us had hepatitis, but none were so sick as to be bed fast. It was more difficult for us to sneak off to town so attired. Many would have done so given the chance regardless of the possible negative effect on their health.
The days were long and boring. Guys, mostly in their early twenties, got little charge from knitting, making hot pads and the like. But, not wanting to hurt the feelings of the female activities director, most of us had a go at whatever was offered. I remember one big guy working with a frame of one inch wood with nails partly driven into it all round. He took yarn of different colors and wrapped it round and round the nails until thick bundles ran in both directions. Then he tied the cords each place they crossed, cut them half way through with a razor blade, and voila, he had a colorful fluffy hot pad.
I remember no names, only faces, and only three of them come clearly into focus. One belonged to the guy who occupied a bed next to mine. He was a Tennessian some years my senior. He had wiry curly hair and sported a mustache, an adornment not common among soldiers at that time. He was openly bitter that the war had robbed him of his two greatest pleasures: booze and babes. Hepatitis (liver disease) banned any use of alcohol. A bullet had entered his side, ranged downward, and taken out both testicles. When we graduated from PJ’s only to PJ’s in the day, regular uniforms at night, we went to town together a number of times. His attitude brightened when he discovered both of his pleasures were still attainable.
Another face was that of a short, medium build, balding, black guy. His expression never changed from that of perpetual solemnity. I don’t know his military specialty, but he entertained us by the hour. He was without doubt the best slight-of-had artist I ever hope to see. As an example, he’d spread his handkerchief, place a coin in the center of it, then fold it up letting anyone who wished take the wad and feel that the coin was still there. Then he would squeeze the wad in one fist, shake the handkerchief out, and of course the coin was always gone. A dozen guys crowding round never discovered how he did this trick nor the secrets of any of his other magic unless he chose to show us.
Last but far from least was the tall, freckled-face, red-headed army nurse in charge of our ward. She ran a tight ship and enforced the essential rules, but did it in a way we could accept. She played no favorites, and often looked the other way when we fudged a bit.
The light was blinding. I went from a head-down near full run to a dead stop in one step and found my face pressed into a solid object. Rather surprising as I was running down the middle of main street in Yoville, the parent town of our hospital, at three in the morning and blackout still ruled the nights.
As I raised my head I found myself staring up into the face of the biggest English Bobby I’d ever seen. He’d heard my boots clanking on the cobble stones, planted himself in the middle of the street, and waited until a second before collision to flash his light in my face. That equaled any surprise I’ve ever encountered.
“In a bit of a ‘urry, are ye laddie?” What could I say but the truth? I’d stayed out far too late and just couldn’t afford to miss morning bed check. “On yer way, then”, says he. A bit shaken laddie continued his bed check run. If I’m not mistaken that’s the time I wound up in another guy’s bed. Must have gone into the ward opposite the usual entrance. The next morning he said, “You looked tired. I figured what had happened and just took your bed. No harm done.”
VE day was sort of an anti-climax. Everyone had known for some time that the war in Europe was over. We waited only for the official declaration. When VE was announced we had no special celebration; we just continued the nightly parties that had been ongoing for weeks.
Several British sergeants and a few Yanks from the hospital gathered in a local pub, sung songs of the day, and downed prodigious amounts of warm beer. That’s how I single out the VE celebration in my memory. Of course it helps that the British sergeants were all females. They could handle that warm beer, which I finally came to like, with the best of us.
Rules and regulations were almost non-existent. VE day had come and gone. The only thing we did not want to miss was the boat back to the states. Just about everything else was ignored.
So when the girl I was with in Yoville suggested that I go to her home for dinner, meet her family and stay the night I readily agreed, pass or no pass. She led me to the railway station. Yep! She lived in a nearby town. No problem. Soldiers rode free so just like that I met another nice family.
The lady of the house put cheese, bread and the ever present hot tea on the table. Nice start for dinner, I thought. Start!? That was dinner! Reflecting on the many choices and mountain of food always put on the table at my Kentucky farm home I found myself feeling sorry for the family. They had so little choice! My concern was unfounded. The quality of that cheese and home made bread made me forget all about meat, potatoes, and gravy.
A back corner of the fence enclosing the hospital grounds was the closest point to town. A gap had been pried in the corner of the fence and a well-worn trail let right into town. That’s the way we always went. The front gate with it’s posted guards was a seldom seen place.
To lessen the chance of getting dirty or tearing a uniform someone had constructed a wood style over the fence. One took the high route going to town when sober and steady; the low route was preferable on the way back. A friend of mine learned this the hard way when he fell from the top of the style severely cracking his skull on a rock.
The Red Cross collected two volunteers from our ward. The lady said, “You and you!”, as she swung her finger round the group. One of the you’s was me. We had been selected to spend the weekend with a family in Bournmouth which felt it was their duty to give American GI’s a break from army routine.
The lady gave us two bags of canned goods including meats, peanut butter and the like. These goodies we would present to our host family upon arrival thus assuring that we would not totally deplete their meager food rations. I must say I was a bit embarrassed as I handed these groceries to the president of the city gas company in the well stocked kitchen of his palatial home.
That, however, was not the end of my embarrassment. Within minutes of our arrival that Saturday afternoon the guy with me, a married sergeant from Brooklyn, was dragging me toward the closest bus stop. He wouldn’t even stop long enough to find out what plans our hosts may have had for us; we just headed for the center of the city. He had an all consuming itch to scratch. I was not a party to his endeavors. We got the last bus back at two Sunday morning.
Our hosts never mentioned our inexcusable rudeness. On Sunday they sat us down to a wonderful meal; then used scarce fuel to show us some of the scenic places around the city. At dinner and in the car with us were the two girls they had invited to share the previous evening with us. These people had been inviting U.S service men into their home throughout the war. They would photograph the guys, then write to their families and send copies of the pictures.