Foreword
I wrote many letters to my Mother 1942-45. During these years I moved from freshman at the University of Kentucky to being one of Uncle Sam’s infantrymen. Now in 2001 I record these letters and such recollections as come to mind.
Why did I not write to my Father as well? His work from shortly after I was born took him ‘on the road’. He was not easy to reach. Mother had always been my confidant. She would keep Dad informed of my activities wherever he might be. Occasionally I did write to him so I present those letters as well.
My letters contain limited reference to combat actions which were continuous once I got to Europe. Censorship precluded even the mention of hostilities in letters home.
All of us considered censorship to be a useless exercise. By the time a letter got to our folks in the States the information it contained was history. Besides, the Germans knew what we were doing. Axis Sally welcomed us singling out many officers by name; then she played music for us.
In my letters I promised to ‘tell more’ about this or that when I got home. Most of us thought we would do this but, I suspect, like me, few did so. I never tried to go back to fill the gaps. None of what happened ever weighed on my mind or bothered me to remember. I can only say that there were many other more interesting things to do. ‘War stories’ were among the less popular pursuits in the later 1940’s.
Years ago I quit swapping war stories with other people. Inevitably, ‘my war’ was two or three wars prior to the one the other guys were talking about.
Some things I read in these letters I recall as if they happened yesterday; other things surely must have happened to someone other than me as they draw a blank in my memory. As I reflect on those days visions appear that are not in my letters. Some are good memories; some are not.
Along with each series of letters I’ve added recollections, both good and bad, just as they occurred to me. They are in no particular order start to finish. Many recollections I’ve added to the letters from the combat zone the censor would have cut out had I written about them at that time. Some things, I must admit, a guy just didn’t tell his mother regardless of where he was. And there are personal memories that will always be mine alone.
Girl friends? Marge, Betty, Wilma, Ginny, Ida, Ruth - I have none of the letters I wrote to them; none that they wrote to me. But a ‘ton’ of letters went both ways. Letters were the toe-hold to the life we had left behind.
My mother, Maud Esther Reeves Van Arsdall, saved all the letters I sent home - every letter, every postcard, even the mailing labels from packages I sent home. Such dedication on her part calls for some more effort on my part. I promised myself years ago that I would put together a ‘Dear Mother’ compilation and let it pass a bit of family history down the line. Here are the words that were put together nearly sixty years ago embellished here and there by happenings that came to mind as I relived those long past days.