Three Letters Home ~ One Soldier’s Arc of a War

Excerpts of a WWII Private’s letters home while stationed in N. Africa and Italy, a young man who formerly didn’t even know how to drive.

I was struck by a certain innocence in these letters, what knowledge of events we only gained in hindsight… and I chose to show photos of postcards and a cartoon sent, rather than those of the war or of soldiers — these found carefully placed in the middle of letters sent.

While looking at the juxtaposition of these peaceful pre-war photos tucked in a soldier’s letters home while engaged in a necessary war of such destruction, I found myself beyond words.

Driving Across Africa, May 1943:

Dear ___ ,

I have been having a rather exciting experience. In a latter day such a thing would have received fanfare galore, but now, with nations struggling under the grip of war it is an everyday, everywhere occurrence — & has been for months under much worse conditions.

I’m referring to a cross continent convey — this one of the longest ever made by U.S. forces (longest in distance, that is).

… in true Army style, *I* was classified as a driver (my saying I couldn’t drive meant nothing. “Anyone can drive a jeep”).

So I was given five minutes to get loaded to help drive a jeep carrying ‘bundles for Benito’ clear across a mountainous continent!

*That* is the Army!)

My partner was Whitey Pekkarinen — a big, quiet Finn with a fine sense of humor, a former truck driver & an excellent man to sit beside as I was later to be thankful for. Of course, I did *not* drive. … Whitey & I got along fine. I lit cigarettes for him. When the wind was from the right *he* chewed tobacco; when it was from the left *I* chewed tobacco (to facilitate spitting, of course!)

Our first day was less than a two hundred mile trip. We passed a beautiful walled city wherein a Sultan lived. I believe it to be the most beautiful city I’ve seen in Africa. Then we saw forests of cork trees for miles, many of the trees already stripped of their usable bark.

Later in the day we approached some foothills, all cultivated & all green or brown with wheat or barley. At sundown we were all tired & hot & cramped & we made bivouac & pitched our pup tents in a broad valley which seemed to be growing thistles, primarily. The nite was marred for me when I was aroused to stand guard on the highway stopping all vehicles in a search for some German prisoners who had escaped.

Early in our second day we passed thru a holy city of Islam — its mosque standing majestically in the air. And for a few hours we had our first taste of mountains. Mountains roads here are terrific. They wind up & up like a circular staircase & then down thru gorges in the same manner.

…

In the little towns thru out the trip the people flooded to the curbs to wave and give V-signs. And always, the kids begged chewing-gum, coffee, bon-bons, smoke — in town or country. This begging was constant & grew terribly tiresome. But the ‘great, benevolent Americans’ rode frantically on & kept throwing bits of ration candy or biscuits to the grateful (?) kids.

It is amazing how universally they learn the English phrases, even in the remotest sections.

“Hey Johnny, give me chocolate.”

“Hey Joe — bon-bon.”

“O.K., O.K..” — it was never-ending.

I can visualize a distant day when some ancient native will gather his clan about to tell of the lush days when the ‘Okays’ came to Africa. “They were a wild, speeding bunch,” he’ll say, “and they had plenty of everything. They were a bit crazy. They threw away precious bits of candy sugar & good things. And they paid any price we asked for anything! Oh, they were great days, those when the Okays were here.”

And the kids will think the old man has gotten a bit balmy when they hear the stories.

…

We also passed truckload after truckload of German & Italian prisoners. … I was so interested in studying their faces I forgot to get a snapshot & have been kicking myself ever since. The Germans were nearly all well-uniformed & neat. They were kids with blond hair. But their faces didn’t show the emotions of kids with blond hair. They should have been thinking of next week’s school prom or a walk in the park with some blue-eyed Gretel. But instead they wore sober man-faces and they had no smile or light in their eyes. I saw despair, resignation, bewilderment, & wonder in these kids with man-faces.

The Italians were nondescriptly dressed, dark complexioned and older. Some were serious; others laughed & waved gaily as tho to an old chum. I cursed them all to myself & thought how goddamn lucky they *all* were to be prisoners. I’ll bet their families are thanking whatever god they believe in that those kids were captured.

…

The roads became worse & the country more desolate. … And here too we began to see the remnants of recent battles in places where the echo of gunfire had scarcely died from the hills.

We saw a strangely beautiful native holy city which arose out of the barren land in a big semi-arid valley. And we then saw a city that had been crumpled and left sighing beneath debris from days of endless bombing attacks.

We reached our destination and camped under olive trees near the sea. …

And so began a new chapter of life in Africa. … It is a saga of speed; a commentary on our generation —

Love, Reds

“D’Italia,” February 1944:

Dear ___ ,

O’Brien said he hoped to hell he’d never write this date again while in uniform and Andy said he thought O’Brien was the most optimistic guy he knew. It’s funny how you keep pushing ahead the dreamed-of date of Germany’s downfall, or going home, or getting to be a civilian.

In Casablanca we used to hope for home by Xmas — then we had it in Italy. Then the boys were saying, “for sure, next Xmas.” Now it’s hard to get a GI to name a date for anything & few have the temerity to name Xmas 1944.

I notice a general “settling down to make the best of it” resignation in the minds of the men & I’m sure it’s a healthier attitude than the terrible hopeless wishing & hoping. Even the question of where from here receives a kind of “what the hell” answer.

Yet the longing for home has not faded.

…

Lots of love to four, very super people at my home front — Reds

Pisa, August 8th, 1945:

Dear ___ ,

By the time you get this you’ll know all about it, but I still haven’t gotten over the story about the atomic bomb which was released yesterday. It will certainly be the discovery of the century — greater than radio, I believe.

Strangely enuf, Stars & Stripes, missed the whole story. They had it stuck down on a second column with only a normal head — something which is bigger than the war itself! I went down to talk to M. about it & he was laughing, too. We discussed some of the future possibilities of this stuff — a boat could travel for weeks on a waterglass of energy.

I guess in a day or two we’ll get some detail but for now all we know is that we dropt one bomb of it that destroyed a city the size of Rochester.

We are again under censorship. And I guess you’d best not write anymore. I’m not getting any mail, anyhow.

….

Love, Reds

‘Reds’ was my (then-future) father.

Veteran’s Day ~ 2015

~also published at OurSalon ~