Letters From Firemen in the
Service of Their Country
1942 to 1945
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Firemen's Relief
Ass'n.
Los Angeles, California
Dear Friends:
I am a little late in writing my thanks for what you
did to help me while I am away.
As to where I am, all I can tell you friends
is that I am many miles away from our fine country. I am
attached to the U.S. Marines. (But still a good Navy man.)
This place is full of swamps, mud, mosquitos, cocoanuts
and bananas. There are plenty of natives here but do not
speak our language. We are close to the enemy and it gets
like a three-alarm fire at times. I enjoy it here knowing
that I can come back to a good country when this war is over.
Well, friends, on June 19th, I received world that my wife
had passed away on April 28th. That was 51 days afterwards
and I never knew what was going on in the States. Why
brother-in-law asked you folks what to do and you helped out
just like you always have before. I will never forget your
kindness and will always be able to stand up and fight for our
Association. I thank you gentlemen from the bottom of my
heart. I notified my brother-in-law to repay my
loan. I am sending through the U.S. Navy all of my money
to my daughter and have informed my brother-in-law to see that
she buys a $50 bond each month, and to see if she can put her
savings into the Credit Union.
I guess I will be far away from my friends until after
this war is over, but I will return then and take up the reins
and be back with the gang that will always be my friends.
Thanks again, gentlemen, and have that youngster, Tom
Carmichael, write me a few lines with that old pen of his that
we have used so many times. And please give my regards to
all pals on the department. I want to have the Grape Vine
sent me please, so I can get the dope on what is going on.
Also, remember me to Chief Alderson and the gang at
Headquarters.
R. J. Briggs, C.G.M.
U.S. Marine Corps Area
No. 370, Naval Unit 2
Postmaster, S.F.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, September 1942
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Lieut. Patrick Bowman, in New
Guinea, got a letter through the censor with no deletions.
Whether the censor's stamp bearing the name of Patrick Bowman
had anything to do with this is problematical. At any
rate, the Lieutenant, in common with others in the service,
would like to hear from his old gang.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine,
June 1943
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Hello Tom:
Just a few lines to let you know I'm alive and kicking. I
did not go to school upon arriving in the East, such as Bill and the
other boys did. I reported at the Fire Fighters School, Norfolk,
was given one day to get my baggage squared away, ordered to get into
dungarees and go to work.
We are teaching actual fire fighting to the officers and men of
the fleet. There are no holds barred at this school, Tom. We
give them the works.
We have a simulated ship built to scale, ashore. In this ship we
attempt to reproduce actual ship fires at sea, the way we use gasoline,
diesel and fuel oils you would never think there is such a thing as gas rationing.
Honestly, Tom, I think we are doing a good job.
Harvey Hamlin is one of my instructors here, and a good one,
too. I understand that Duane Cooper is doing some type of lecture
work on fire fighting, at a near-by camp, but I have not seen him as
yet. . .
Cordially yours,
LARRY CLARKE,
Lietu. (j.g.) U.S.N.R.
Fleet Service Schools,
N.O.B. Norfolk, Va.
Care Fire Fighters School,
May 21, 1943.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, July 1943
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Dear Friend
Tom:
. . . Roeder wrote me and said something about joining the
union. The only thing I would give John Lewis is lead poisoning.
After calling the coal strike and causing our factories to close, we men
out this way don't like that kind of business. It would be hell if
we threw away our guns and said pay us more. Glad to hear the
Association has purchased $300,000 in bonds. That is the spirit,
Tom. I don't think the Japs will ever be wanted in California
again. Ship them all to China after the war and they will be taken
very good care of. Sentiment is the same out this way and I don't
believe (I don't know this) they take any more Jap prisoners. You
sure have some V garden in that yard of yours, Tom. Makes me
hungry for some nice fresh greens. Sure take all of the machinery on
those truck farms. They will never need them again.
Tom as far as those fellows getting the commissions and never
being in the service before does not worry me anymore. I am out
here for that one purpose, to do my part and I know my fate and can hold
it, but some of those men don't. And when I get back I can tell
them all to go to h---, I am just doing my best and am not looking for
any medals or glory. I will do my job here just as I tackled the
fires in the past. Get in and get it over with, then pick up and
go home. . .
Your friend,
BOB
R.J. Briggs, C.G.M.
Navy 207,
Care Fleet Post Office
San Francisco, Calif.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, July 1943 |
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Forrest M.Moore,
Assistant Chief, L.A.F.D.
Hello, Chief:
Just a few lines to let you know
that I am still kicking and feeling fine. I have been wondering
how all the boys are getting along because I have not had any mail from
any of them for a long time.
Up here in Alaska it's fine this time of the year.
Everything is nice and green, and the fishing is good. Not that I
have had a chance to go fishing yet, but I hope to as soon as I can get
off duty long enough to go. Suppose that you know by this time I
am back on the fire department for the Navy.
There are three fire
stations at this base and they are run about the same way that you run
them in L. A. My duties consist mostly of inspection work, that
is, checking and inspecting warehouses, extinguishers, heating units and
other hazards that come to us for correction.
There is also another fireman from L. A. here by the name of
Rusty Chitwood, from Venice, but he does not work with me, but we see
each other quite often.
I see by the L. A. papers that the Navy has been having trouble
with the zoot suite gangs. How about it, chief, is everything
under control? If not, just give us a call and we will send a few
men down and take care of things.
There are a lot of things that I would like to write to you
about, but the Navy censors would cut them out, so we will have to wait
until I get back home again, which I hope is soon.
Have you had any mail from Bottleneck or any of the other boys in
the service? I often wonder how they are getting along. I do
hope that they are OK.
As far as the war is concerned everything seems to be
going all right fro us at the present time, and I expect that the Japs
are going to take it on the chin from now on until they will have to
give up.
Up here in Alaska the days are long at this time of the
year. We have about two hours of darkness, so you see we have to
put up the blackout shades to keep the sun out where at home you pull
down the shades to keep the light inside. That is something, hey?
I was confined to the hospital for a couple of weeks. You
see I caught a piece of flying steel in my neck and it still is
there. The doctors tried to take it out but they gave up and they
may send me back to Seattle to have it removed. I hope so, anyway,
because maybe I would get a chance to come home for a short time.
Chief, I wonder if there would be any chance of getting the L.A.
Fire College Engineer books. Yu see we are getting a new American
LaFrance, 750-gal. combination apparatus at our station, so I would like
to know all about it, because we have to do a lot of drafting up here
and most of my work has been with Seagraves. Maybe Chief Danks
would be big hearted and sell me one. By the way, give my regards
to all the Chiefs down at headquarters for me.
The men that I work with come from fire departments all over the
good old U.S.A., and they all have different ways of drilling and
fighting fires, but as far as I am concerned the Los Angeles way is
best.
How is the cooking getting along at the station, and who is doing
the cooking?
How are the handball and baseball teams? Or are they too
busy to do much playing?
This is about all for this time, and tell the boys that I am expecting
a letter soon.
Give my regards to everybody that I know and tell that everything
is under control up here. I will write more the next time.
As ever,
HARRY H. HOLMER,
Q.M. 1/c,
38th Batt, care Fleet P.O.,
San Francisco, Calif.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, August, 1943
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Dear Tom and All
Hands:
How is every one back in
good old L. A. by now? You know, that sure is a swell
town.
Suppose you folks are busy as usual, plugging away and
keeping things going.
I'm a long way from there now, in fact it's winter time
here, however, not cold, just short days and lots of rain, about
four or five showers everyday. The people here have many
strange customs, and are very backward, however, for the most
part are friendly to the Americans.
We see a good many peculiar sights and get many laughs
out of some of the customs.
Oranges, bananas and cocoanuts grow wild and the
mosquitoes are as big as dogs. Consequently there is lots
of disease among the native people here.
Have nice work and like it fine. We work seven days
a week, but don't mind as there isn't much else to do.
Wish you world send the Grape Vine to this address.
Haven't received one for a couple of months and would sure enjoy
it.
Well, folks, this is all for this time. Write soon.
Lt. (jg) WM. L. MILLER,
U.S.N.R.
Navy No. 150, Fleet Postoffice,
Op. No. 5, New York, N. Y.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine,
August, 1943
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Hi Les:
I hope you still remember me from good old 28s Ed
Bohrer's assistant in the old galley, Harry (Moose) Hjorth.
I am now a machinist mate first class in Uncle Sam's Navy
on a tin can where everybody lives practically on top of
one another. Its a great life though an experience I
wouldn't take a million for nor would I ever do it again
unless I could help it. We have covered a lot of
this old world at present doing a bit to give the Wops a
bad time. Hope you and the Missus are all fine and
are doing all right. I still get the Grape Vine and
read your article. I still think about our evening
with that English Chief. Wonder where he is
now. Sure would like to be back at the old engine house to hear one of your fish stories. I tell these
fellows about the incidents that happen all around the
station. Have won a lot of converts to the fire
service. I met Chief Humphries, L.A.F.D., who is now
a Commander in the Navy. He is the Captain on the
D.E. No. 163, in New York not so long ago. We had
quite a talk. Bet he sure is a swell guy to work
for. Well, Les, will close for now. Drop me a
line if you can spare the time
The old DOUGH boy,
HARRY E. HJORTH, MM 1-C
USS Gillespie,
Care Fleet Postmaster,
New York City, New York
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine,
November, 1943
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Kiska Island
Sept. 2, 1943
Dear Friends:
Since the last
time that I wrote you I have arrived at my new base which is Kiska
Island, until lately held by the Japs, but now in our hands, and
they will never land on this place again.
I thought that we would have some good hunting when we landed
but there was no slant-eyes to be had or to be found. I
suppose that they must of had some advance information that we were
coming to drive them out and they did not want anything to do with
us because they sure got out of here in a hurry.
They left all of their equipment--that is what they could not
caddy. There was plenty of--also other things that I can't
write about at this time.
Our airmen did some good bombing at this place--our airmen
scored direct hits on them and all they are good for now is junk.
The Japs left all of their heavy winter clothing, such
as fur-lined coats, blankets and other clothing, but we don't dare
to take any of them---.
If they would have been on this island I suppose that we
would have had a hard time driving them out,-- comes to that king of
fighting it is always a hard job.
I don't see how the Japs lived on this place, their housing
or living quarters were very poor and they must have been a filthy
bunch of men as far as cleanliness is concerned. There was
none.
No for the Island of Kiska itself, its just about like the
rest of the islands in the Aleutian Group: by that I mean that they
are all hills and mountains with quite a few live volcanoes.
Kiska--should be a fairly good place to live. The only
thing that I don't like about it is that wind blows up here--.
There are no trees on this island but for some reason grass
grows good. Of course there is no reason why trees should not
grow, the soil is good.
Also Kiska is like the other islands as far as fishing is
concerned. There are plenty of good streams and they are full
of trout and salmon, so I should get some good fishing when I have
time to go......
As ever,
HARRY W. HOLMER
Q.M. 1-c-U.S.N.R.
38th N.C.B. % Fleet P.O.
San Francisco
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, October, 1943
Captain Don Hibbard:
Thought you would be interested to know that Don is
in foreign service "Somewhere in the
Mediterranean." Left Norfolk July 24 on the
cruiser Philadelphia for North Africa. Have heard from
him from Oran and Palermo. He is damage control
officer on the Philadelphia and on the admiral's
staff. He is the only one of the four who received
commissions in foreign service and on a ship. The others
are at bases. Thought this would be a good way to let
the boys know where he is, and maybe get a few Christmas
cards on the way. His address is Lieut. Don W. Smith,
U.S.S. Philadelphia, Fleet Postmaster, New York, N.Y.
Thanking you sincerely.
MRS. ANNA MAE SMITH
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine,
November, 1943
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Dear Sirs:
Just received three copies of the Grape Vine, and cannot
tell you how much I am enjoying them, even reading the
ads. Needless to say I am quite interested in what is
going on in the good old L.A.F.D.
This bunch of Seabees out here in the Pacific are working
hard, and making good progress on their assignments. I am
a member of the 99th Naval Construction Battalion. We were
"adopted" by the state of Texas and now we are known
as "The Lone Star Battalion." We have men from
every state in the Union, and Washington D.C., Panama and
Alaska. Texans predominate tho. Have quite a number
of boys from L.A., but no other firemen. Have one
policeman.
Best wishes to all my friends, and thanks again for the
Grape Vine.
Sincerely,
ROBT. H. SMITH,
99 NCB Co. B 3 care Fleet P.O.
San Francisco, Calif.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine,
May, 1944
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Captain M. J. Carter
Care Truck 27, L.A.F.D.
Hollywood, Calif.
Dear Cap:
Guess you gave up ever hearing from your tillerman,
what? I am in the European theater of war working out of
England somewhere.
Have had some very interesting experiences since I left
the Fire Department, Cap, and I'll tell you all about them when
(?) I get back.
How is your boy doing and also how are all the guys at
27s?
Am in good shape and made Chief Boatswain's Mate, but
still looking forward to coming back to the fire job. Say
hello to Beke and Gillette and Chief Davlin and all the boys.
Yours,
BOB.
R. Radke, U.S. Navy No. 100,
Fleet Postoffice, New York, N.Y.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, June, 1944
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Dear Lads:
Had the darndest experience the other day and it is high
time I tell you and check to see how true it may be. While
cutting a trail through the jungle, my compass went haywire and I
was unable to find my camp. So macheted my way onto a game
trail, ran this into a path used by the Nagas (head hunters) and
finally came to one of their weird camps. Since they receive
75 rupees for a Jap head, but 100 rupees for each American returned
safely, I was not too worried.
One of the formalities in Nayese is that the tribe's witch
doctor must look you over and perform some rites. Now, this
may sound too fantastic for credence to you, but remember, the
Orient is a strange and exotic place where unusual occurrences are
taken for granted. One of these rites was remarkable, the
good Doc peers into a large receptacle, made of ebony and
encrusted with jade and large, black, star sapphires. It
contains fresh human blood, obtained from the jugular of a Naga
that has screwed-up, or from anyone not worth the aforementioned
75 R or 100 R.
Curiosity overcoming caution, I had to look too, and what a
strange sight; many,many rupees. I counted then in the
blood and they came to 298,000. By rapid calculation I
surmised they equaled $60,000 American.
As I continued to gaze, the reflection gradually changed
and I could see someone in a blue uniform, sitting in a
chair, feet propped on a table, his head lolling, then jerking,
mouth open, just as though he were asleep. Someone, and it
resembled Chief Cougar, paused to look; passed on. I
looked intently at the figure and, so help me, it looked like my
old pal and severest critic, Joe.
Now, Joe, does this all have any significance? Hope
this letter finds all of you still at attention, of course, ah
there, Brute. I recall, you all promised to stick around, at
least, until I came back, don't forget. Recent events in the
Pacific theater look very promising, don't they. Hope they
can keep rolling, since I have some unfinished business to attend
to in Los Angeles, the sooner the better.
Reports of the men considering unionization are very
disturbing to me. Doesn't it seem that unions, in their
present, uncontrolled form, are a bit on the vicious side?
At the most, hope it merely represents an attempt to gain more
serious attention to our own organization.
How I envy you your sighting trips down Hollywood Blvd. as
directed by one Stearns Barrows in the La France. Best of
luck to you all.
As ever,
BOB
S-Sgt. Robert O. Crume, 39296974,
775th E.P.D. Co., Base Section 3,
APO 689, care PM, New Your, N.Y.
Burma, April 17th.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, June, 1944
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Hi Ho There, Gang:
This joint dive, jail,
etc., makes me ashamed to say I'm from California. One night
the wind blows like hell and the next day the sum comes out and
proves it. About 95 here today and still two summer months
to go. (Plus about seven or eight hundred miles of hiking).
I've been in the army a
month now. (Boy, what a month). The first three weeks
were spent at "hard labor." The prisoners of war
here, "Ities" don't work as hard as us. I've mixed
cement, cut lawns, dug fish ponds, built cesspools, anywhere from
eight to twelve hours, six days a week. All for $1.67 a
day. (Who do you see for our availability certificates around
here?) Last week was our first week of training.
We get seven weeks of
basic infantry training, seven weeks of specialist training, two
weeks of bivouac, and one week of makeup. At first I was in
a rifle company. They were going to march me right up to my
armpits. (That's the strongest part of me). I could
"jump for joy" when they said they were going to give me
a typewriter. I'll punch the hell out of that
"Underwood" all the way to Tokio.
This camp is strictly a
replacement outfit. They drag the casualties out and drag us in.
We are supposed to have a ten day furlough and then our address
will be A.P.O., Fort Ord or S.F. (Too damn fast for
me!) Sure seems funny to go to bed without my boots by the
side of my bed. I find myself "checking" every
once in a while. Probably getting groggy.
Brought my car up here and
my corporal tore the transmission out. Whatinel can you do
in a case like that? I have to get along with him for the
next sixteen weeks. Of course he didn't tell me a word about
tearing it out.
Last week was rough.
"Second alarm" twice in a row. Tuesday and Thursday
evenings had night hikes. Got in about 12:30 each
night. Friday I was on table waiting and they start you at
3:45 a.m.. Finished at 11 p.m. Next day was Saturday.
(Every day is "Friday" and every Saturday is
"semiannual") inspection so I stayed up a couple of
hours trying to get my stuff cleaned up. At 3:45 a.m. up
again. This time I was on K.P. Got off at 6:00
p.m. Who said this country is on a forty hour week?
The army gets 25 hours out of 24. Next week we double up.
Three force marches in a row.
Well, lights out 15
minutes ago. Have to close. If any one there hasn't anything
better to do, drop me a line.
So long,
GIRARD.
Girard Anear,
Camp Roberts, Calif.
Source:
The Fireman's Grape Vine, July, 1944
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Burma, June 7
23:10 Hours.
Dear Cap:
Good night to write a long letter--owe you, Peshett and
Sid--suppose they will be much alike. I couldn't write a
long letter without repeating myself. So seldom anything
happens I can write, that even permissible little items are
welcome. Too, may be some time before I'll be able to exercise
the luxury of writing.
Sergeant of the guard tonite. Only sounds from the
jungle that presses in on all sides and overhead--gentle rain,
bench, table (crude, very), lantern attracts myriads of bugs,
etc.--defend right and left with aiosal bombs--attack on frontal
area with repellant.
The enclosed snap is part of a story--sorry I rather hammed
up the "take"--Hollywood exposure trapped me.
After four months of beating thru this leech (etc!)
infested land of "no sky" (overhead foliage)--saw the
outside world--escape from third degree claustrophobia, people,
civilization (?), bazaars--Ah Mother India.
My buddy and I arose early yesterday morn--day off-yi!
Jaleli, Jaleli to advanced air strip and hitched ride on plane and
the panorama that unfolded below was magnificent--bit ironic,
too. Months of beating our weary way forward thru the green
stuff below, and we are out in an hour. Worst flying area in
the world, pilots say. The cool air at 7,000 feet and we
forget the humid 130 degree heat below (they say "wait 'til
summer and the monsoon really come"??? After landing we catch
a jeep to a nearby village. Flush, with long idle ruppees
(one P is enough, kid) and a long list of musts and hopes, we
attack the wily merchants, but first food, real food, fugitives
from cold "C" rations. Chinese restaurant, eggs,
salad, potatoes, chicken, banana fritters, green tea. Well,
won't say how many rounds of each, but that inner man was appeased
while other diners smiled knowingly. Now to the native
bazaar--a new billfold--mine is so mildewed that it sickens as
much as the stench of jungle death. New leather boots, 50 rp.,
and then try my luck at the jewel merchant--cagy lad--but think
(?) I malum the oriental mind by now?? After the usual
preliminary courtesies of his "Rham, Rham, Salaam,
Sahib," and me calling him a cheat and dirty thief--the dirty
work begins. Result, a fine opal bracelet for Kathleen--22c gold,
75rp. She will have it appraised and I'll know how to
operate in the future--but there is little point in cheating
here--gems plentiful. British control export to hold prices
up. Duty is boxsies to overseas troops. Rubies,
emeralds and star sapphires, not prime stones--someday--Delhi or
Lucknow for real gems. Next day off hope to go over the hump
to China for jade and silk.
So after another meal (pig) off to airport and the Requim
Begans. Catch a ride on an overloaded plane, but they like
us for what we do down there, helps them up there, and vice
versa. But such a strange crew, 1st Lt., pilot, captain,
only co-pilot??? Seems Capt. can't fly so good--hmmm. We
manage to get aboard and settle down for another cool ride.
Lt. lets Capt. fly one trip a day--this trip is Capt's. and things
start--but now. Both swell lads. Personable, but such
qualities don't fly airplanes, it seems.
Ye Capt. proceeds to run off the strip and we stick in the
ever-present mud--now I've seen everything--a plane stuck
too! After being extricated from this embarrassing
predicament and hearing a T-Sgt. say, with a slight ting of
sarcasm, "Where are you going, Captain?", we try again
and the proud sky bird (mud hen) is airborne--well, sort of
anyway. Let's not think of landing now. Below, the
limitless jungle of Southeastern Asia, God, venturing into that tangled
mess without a compass, or to misread one--finis. Never
realized how lucky we had been at times. As we leave India,
the geometrical patterns of lovely tea plantations and villages,
rice paddys, fade behind--Burma bound--ho hum (oh yeh!)
The Lt. let's us have his seat at the controls and the
view, a circle of sky and green earth. After a bit of this
we says "Hows about buzzin' them elefinks down
there?" (Forgetting and forgetting, but mostly
forgetting the mud miscue). Says he, "Like to, but
don't dare with this air load." So just to be
consistent, he then hooks a fast right at the wheel and zow--we go
buzzin'! Lt. comes forward, looks Capt. in eye--Capt. don't
look Lt. in eye--so we go upstairs again--muy promto. Lt.
stays-so do we--too good a spot to leave and maybe it's gong to
take all of us to fly this airplane now. Hit hard rain at
7,000 ft.--thick fog. Lt. makes Capt. circle to get another
1,000 ft.--oh just some 7,000 ft. hills dead ahead in the
soup. rather glad Lt. is along by now.
After an hour of this hilarious alleged flying, we look for
our target. Now a fighter strip in jungle is darned hard to
locate and ours is particularly well concealed, but maybe Lt. can
find it--he does. The traffic pattern is busier than
Wilshire--so we bend and skid, bend and skid, can't keep that wing
up--must be heavier than the other. So the tower finally
says to come in, and we comes--right behind another plane--his
prop wash doing the funniest things to our airplane, but we don't
have any bad luck.
By this time I'm leaning well over both air corps to watch
the imminent landing with a vague uneasiness--must be the chicken
salad, etc. The landing strip is a fill, at the approach it
raises 20 ft. high--we are leveling out and heading lickety split
right at raise--but Jittery Joe gets us over with a violent tug at
the throttle.
Now the strip is just big enough. When you come in to
land, you land, no gunning her up for another crack at the
field. but I'm relieved as we slip almost to the runway,
even if we have used up half the allotted space already and things
are rushing by plenty fast. Then, right in my ear, a blood
curdling scream "WHERE'S MY WHEELS?" and that's
all, brother. I'll be leaving now to figure the rest out for
themselves, but "Parting is such sweet sorrow,"
especially now. Well, Lt. had already put wheels down, so we
crunches in and stops--with great big trees right in our
whiskers! "JE-SUS CHRIST," yells the pilot
(our Capt.) with vehement relief--so we says same--with same
relief. So ends the "Saga of Jungle Young and Burma Bab"--or
"The Rover Boys in the Flying Popcorn Machine."
Have been hearing rumors on good news in Europe--that Rome
fell and the second front is on--check date of letter against
these things if true and consider it will be weeks before we have
details of fact or find out it's fiction--our little
"agreement" is taking up most of our time now.
Better I go check my guard and see it all heads and necks
are still connected--nite now.
As ever,
BOB CURME.
S-Sgt. Robert O. Crume, 39296974,
775th E.P.D. Co., Base Section 3,
APO 689, care PM., New York, N.Y.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, November, 1944
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Somewhere in Belgium,
7, October 1944.
Hello, Fred, Gus and Gang:
I have been wanting to write and thank the person or persons responsible
for me receiving the Grape Vine, but time has not permitted until now
and I am taking advantage of the fact that I am sergeant of the guard
tonite, so in the few spare moments between inspections I'll try and
write a bit. My outfit landed in France on the 12th of June and
the moment we hit the beach we had our work cut out for us and we have
been very busy ever since. There were very few troops here when we
landed, so it wasn't all just getting off a boat. The Germans has
a few ideas of their own and those people are stubborn. They have
to be shown. The first couple of months it took some
showing. I got to the place that if the Jerry aircraft hadn't made
their nightly visit I couldn't go to sleep. The pyratechnic show
that we got every night free was better than I have ever seen at the
Coliseum. Any way at the Coliseum there wasn't any 90's to roll
you out of bed when they went off and you didn't have to worry about
shrapnel falling on your head. The old tin hat comes in pretty
handy for other things than just something to wash your face in. I
hear from some of the boys quite often and with the Grape Vine, the
Protective league paper, I am still in touch with the gang and believe
you me it is very, very nice. So tell them all to keep up the good work
and from what I have seen in the last two years the Los Angeles Fire
Department is a damn good organization to be a member of. Got a
few slants on England's fire brigade system that I'll get to you some of
these days, it looks like their career is coming to a close. so there
should be some interesting stuff. Oh, yes, Paris is a great
town. Maybe some of the boys have memories, they say it hasn't changed.
Well, I'll ring off fro now. Thanks again, whoever is responsible for
the Grape Vine.
As
ever,
JOHN E. CULVER.
T-S, 6100835,
227 Ord. Maint. Co. AA,
APO, 230, care Postmaster,
New York, N.Y.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, November, 1944
|
Dear Pop:
After waiting so dog-gone long for a letter, today I finally received
three, one from you and two from the wife. As I'm so
pleased at receiving some mail and this particular time it was
from you I just decided I'd write one back to you.
For the news here there
really isn't much. The Japs are still using their very silly
tactics of war and what, with our superior force, both in strength
and training, they are rapidly being exterminated. Actually
the show has gone off in fair dinkum style but is slightly behind
the expected schedule and has gone off far better than I personally
anticipated. Those two task forces trying to give us a good
ol' fashion pinch play, which indeed (if successful) would have, I
believe, folded us up that were here; thank God for our
naval and air might throughout this theater.
We've had an alert since I
started and I've been outside watching a couple of 38's chase ol'
Photo Joe. They finally tagged him and he came down in a
whirl and then broke into a ball of fire. All clear now.
That's what I mean by
their silly tactics. I don't care what they have to offer,
we always have a ringside seat on these great shows. Suppose
they will ever learn?
Your guess was correct on
J. A., except it isn't spelled the way you did it. The
double "o" is at the end, not the beginning.
Getting pretty dark now,
so I will close for now, as it is a necessity--no lights, you
know. Until the next time, love to all.
GEORGE.
Lt. Geo. A. Reed
Hq., 5th Air
Force,
A.P.O. 710
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, December, 1944
|
Germany, March 24, 1945.
Hi 4Fs:
If I can keep
dodging the 88s, artillery shells, mortar, 31s, machine pistols, tanks,
stukas and what have you, I will whip off a fast letter to cheer you who
are on the verge of being drafted. Don't worry about a thing, they
will give you at least six weeks' training before shipping you to the
front line and besides that, we will soon wind up this theater of combat
so you will probably be shipped to some nice South Pacific island on the
order of Iwo Jima.
This division was
committed to combat under Patton. Yes, old Blood and Guts.
Third Army. Imagine me bring shoved into the roughest combat team
here. Personally I think they made a mistake. While on guard
at night I can feel my poor old heart jumping around inside of me, looking
for a place to hide. It is a peculiar feeling to be standing there
at night and suddenly have a .50 caliber open up. That sleepy
feeling leaves you in a hurry.
We spent a few days
in Luxembourg on the way in. That is pretty nice country--at least
they have good beer. A little short of malt but good. We
have a whole barrel of German bock beer with us now and although it is a
little sweet, I must say, quite delectable.
Germany is now
realizing the full weight of this war. The first town I entered
was completely leveled. They didn't even save the lot.
Glass, rubble and abandoned German equipment were strewn about in utter
confusion. The people just stared with blank faces as we rolled
by, pulling the big guns which converted their homes to dust. Some
timidly wave but I return their gesture with my "you stole my last
candy bar" look and they quickly become at ease.
Prisoners pass us
by the score, minus that superman look and looking plenty beat up.
All men of military age are rounded up and shipped to the rear.
This helps relieve that cold chill feeling about the spine. They
can shoot straight from hidden places. We always keep a round in
the chamber ready to go.
Dead Germans lie in
grotesque positions and horses, their substitute for prime movers, lie
where they have fallen, awaiting our kitchen. Speaking of fresh
meat, these German chickens are mighty tasty and I have a long wire with
a hook on the end which I use to shag 'em on the fly. Deer are
plentiful, although small--just right for six.
I have a pretty
good German rifle which I am sending home. It is .31 caliber and
built just like our .03. Shoots straight but kicks like
hell. I also found of all things, a fireman's helmet last
June. Will bring it to the Big House for examination. Before I
leave here I will have a Luger.
The Grape Vine
keeps me posted on Fire Dept. activities. Stan's stuff is
especially good.
Better get this in
the mail before we receive march orders. So bye, bye for now.
Shaky,
NIELSEN.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, May
1945
|
Hello Gang:
I am sending you my A.P.O
number, see what you can do in making some use of it. I would
like to hear from some of you. It has been quite warm over
here recently; most of the mud has dried up and some of the
fruit trees are in bloom I know that some of you are curious
as to just where I am, but that is something I can not tell
you. The Germans know we are here and a lot more, but we have not
been given the OK to write it. I can say it say it is a
section of the country where some hard fighting has been going
on. Most of the people around here wear wooden shoes.
I can understand why this is necessary in the wet or rainy
season. I doubt that a pair of regular shoes would last out
the season. Bicycles are very popular. All ages ride
them, from small children to gray haired men and women.
It is all very strange at
first the way thing are over here. The town we now occupy
was occupied by the Germans. Civilians were living in the
town with them. Now we occupy the town and the civilians
continue to live in it as before. You would really be
surprised, but the civilians still cultivate the fields,
practically up to the front line, and well within artillery
range. One of them gets killed occasionally, but no seems to
think much about it. Boy, will I be glad when I get back to
good old California, and get some fresh fruit! It has been
so long since I have had any fruit, I am beginning to wonder what
it looks like.
Well fellows this finishes
me up for the evening. At that I wrote more than I thought I
could.
Best regards to all.
CPL. PAUL H.
AUGUSTINE.
No. 39279239,
Hq. Co. 3rd Bn. 263rd Infantry Reg.
A.P.O. 454, % Postmaster, New York.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, May
1945 |
Caserta, Italy,
11, May, 1945
Friend Augie:
Your
"V" mail letter dated April 24th finally caught up to me
here at Caserta where I am waiting to go to Austria. I have been
transferred to a new outfit that is about ready to leave. We are
going to teach those people how to get along without fighting.
So it looks like I am going to have to learn to speak German after
all.
I was here when
the Germans came down to headquarters to surrender but, of course,
that was all secret and we did not see them. Well, the shooting
in this part of Europe is finally over and many of the people at home
are breathing a lot easier I am sure. the censorship has been practically
all lifted.
I was stationed
almost eight months in the city of Florence and like every place else
I have been I made many friends and I hated to leave but after all I
feel that we are that much closer to getting home. This town of
Caserta is a little town outside Naples where there is a royal palace
and as this is one of the largest building in Europe it is used for
American field headquarters in the Mediterranean area.
My last town
(Florence) was a very nice place and the people there are a lot
different than the people down here around Naples. The city is
very clean and there was not much destruction as it was reported to be
an open city. The Germans left thousands of mines and bombs and
my civilian defense group cleared more than forty thousand of
them My big job there with the fire department was to get them
wheels and tires for their vehicles because the Germans really cleaned
them out before they left. The commandants and I got along fine
and had a fine dinner for me before I left and believe it or not I
made a speech in Italian to them.
Our trip overseas
was not too bad; it took 23 days to go from Hampton Roads, Virginia to
Biserte, North Africa. The trip seemed very long and the night before
we hit North Africa we were attacked. We lost a ship and from
the way it disappeared and the explosion it must have had ammunition
aboard. The blast was terrific and there was only one ship
between it and me. After that we had a thunder and lighting
storm to keep up awake. Afterwards we were stationed near
Algiers and went to school there before we came over to Italy. My first
assignment was Rome, but while I was in Naples getting some experience,
Captain Griswold was killed and I was kept there until after Rome was
taken so I missed out on being the Rome fire officer. I was just
as well pleased because the assignment I had was much better. In
Naples I had the entire civilian defense outfit along with the fire
department and we had some pretty good raids when I was there.
Well, by the time you get this I may be in Vienna, but keep writing as
I sure like to get news form home.
Good luck, best
regards,
MAC.
Capt. A. W. MacDougall,
Sec. "B" 2600 Spec.Det.,
APO 400, Postmaster, N.Y.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, June
1945 |
|
V-E Plus Two, Germany.
Hi Slaves:
Well it was a great
fight but we won. Ike and I finally got down to business and,
without even sacrificing our queen, checkmated the Krouts. I must
confess we used some of the strategy protegeed by Luther to achieve this
end, but it is all over now and I am off to Paris, Brussels, the Riviera
and other pleasant places--I hope. I don't feel like the C B I (China,
Bruma, India Area) at the moment--my war weakened heart would never
stand for it.
Except for a few
lacerations from "C" ration cans and chronic periods of mess
kit (diarrea) for which I should receive the Purple Heart, I came
through without a scratch. Of course I didn't receive any
medals--they don't decorate for shoving a Pfc out of his foxhole, do
they?--But hell, medals are only for thirty year men like you guys who
are coming in now. It will be that long before you get out.
Tra La La--Sam's got 'em. Ho Hum. I figured out my points
today and found that I Don't have enough to get back across the Rhine-in
fact I owe a few. T S C B I (Too soon the China, Bruma, India Area?)
I am not allowed to
give my exact location or itinerary through Germany as yet but I will
say that we are near Czechoslovakia. With the ceasing of
hostilities, we immediately ceased work and just lie around on our bird
dog pratts and play soft ball. It is a little warm to bat the ball
around so I just swing a beer bottle instead. Pardon me while I
open a new pack of Camels. Gee, I'm getting low--must get another
carton out of my duffle bag. As I was saying, goldbricking is the
vogue now. Our liberated radio plays music while we empty a
liberated keg of beer. Some of the boys write, some wash clothes,
others go over to visit the Polsky and Rusky girls who are still here,
and I clean the gun. These guys can vanish faster than McCormick
into a beer tavern. Anyhow, we aren't firing day and night,
ducking Jerry planes and counter battery or firing at bushes which you
would swear was a German in the darkness of night. Ho!
It might be
interesting to you to hear how V E day affected us. Rumors began
pouring in days before the actual capitulation. I started a few
myself to liven things up a bit. When word finally came in, we
uncorked a few jugs and drank to Hitler, the son of a (censored).
It was sort of a subdued celebration, through, knowing the war with
Japan was yet to be resolved. Then, everyone forgot about the war
and began speculating about furloughs and the point system.
The big flow of
prisoners began that day and are still coming in. There are
convoys of tanks, trucks and other vehicles driven by their own crews
and bearing swarms of their own men, being led in by a single
jeep. Their faces have that same bewildered look as that worn by former
prisoners and I do believe that they never fully realized the condition
of Germany until the very end. A few of their people wave as they
pass, but for the most part, they are stared at with an indifference
which must be embarrassing to those jokers who may have been superman at
one time but are kaput now. Enemy planes pass over heard
companioned by P47s and P51s, on their way to Allied fields.
Liberated Poles and Russians swarm the roads on their way home. They
must have requisitioned every bicycle in Germany and come peddling along
carrying a pack and spare tire. I don't really know how the people
feel. No doubt they are glad it is over but not so happy about who
won.
I get a big kick
out of the letters from the Big House. Your's of the 27th of April
arrived today containing a refreshing line of (censored) as I ever
read. Looks as though I will have to save my best stories or I
won't even be included in the conversation when I return. From its
contents, I concluded that the Bug is still a . . hound, McCormick was
loaded when he wrote his part, Braden has forgotten about the radio,
Stan should write for Esquire, Claunch, knowing that I read the Grape
Vine, is looking for compliments on his bowling, and that Al and I can
still beat Chief Moore and his shovel shots in the corner.
Your Foreign
Correspondent,
NIELSON.
Sgt. Darwin J. Nielson,
39566326,
C Btry. 563 F.A.Bn.
APO 89, care Postmaster, New York.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, June
1945
|
28 March, 1945
Dear Stan:
Now
don't drop dead when you see who this is from. I have been threatening
to write you for months. Maybe it's the fact that today is my ninth
anniversary or maybe it's because I read your column in the latest Grape
Vine to reach me, that has finally prompted my writing, but anyhoo, here
I am.
I'll
give you a quick resume of what's been doing with me in all these
months. As you know I knocked around San Pedro for eighteen months on a
converted yacht doing costal patrol and ocean and costal escort
work. Finally received orders to S.C.T.C., Miami. . . I worked
like the dickens as I wanted commend of a P C boat. . . My efforts were
rewarded with the command I wanted . . .I was on my way to Guantanamo
Bay, Cuba. . . The ship I had had been run on a reef just south of Miami
by the exec on his first night watch. The skipper talked himself
into being relieved, so I received my command sooner that I
anticipated. We were on the Gtmo-Trinidad run for nearly six
months. The Carribbean had quieted down by that time and we had no
excitement.
[Later
in Norfolk] I had charge, so called of training our crew there for four
weeks and then we drove down to Orange, Texas, where the ship was to be
commissioned, arriving there the day before Christmas. The ship
was commissioned on 28 Dec., 1943, New Years day. . . We left Orange
with the ship. [for Galveston, left Galveston] for our shakedown at
Bermuda. Bermuda may be a romantic isle to a lot of people, but I
have seen all I want of it. Darned near froze to death and the
wind blew something fierce all but three days of the 26 we were
there. We had ten days availability in Charleston and then
were off again.
For
five and a half months we ran from Curacao to the Med. We stopped
in Casablanca, Oran, Algiers and Naples during this time. Algiers
fascinated me and I could write about the mystery and intrigue of the
Casbah for hours, but won't. Naples was the dirtiest of those
cities and whoever said "See Maples and die" had not seen much
of the world that is sure. Visited Pompeii while there and
acquired a nice coating of dust of centuries on my shoes. It
is really incredible how dirty people can become until you see them
living in some of their native surroundings. Naples wasn't much above
the Casbah in Algiers. In the later city you could see every kind
of uniform extant, I believe, except German. There were a great
number of Italians even, Berbers, Sudanese, French by the thousands,
Poles, Czechs, Slavs, English, American, Brazilian and Peruvians, to mention
a few, plus many more native soldiers whose name I can't remember.
We made four trips during this time and became known as the lucky four,
there were only four ships of our division making these trips, because
nothing ever happened to any of our ships. Convoys just ahead or
behind had ships torpedoed or were attacked by planes, but we escaped
all forms of attack. One outfit had four ships torpedoed an hour
after passing us one night and a CUE was torpedoed a day behind
us. It is a fine feeling to get you ships through safely, but we
want a sub.
We
returned to the states after these four trips and had our run shifted to
its present one. This was a wonderful break as we made fast trips and I
am home for a few days after each one. . . It won't be long now I
don't believe until we are off to the Pacific and then I probably won't
be home for at least 18 months.
We will
be off on our ninth trip soon and in the other eight nothing has
happened except that we did have a sub contact one night. One of
my men got buck fever and put a firing plug in wrong side to or we would
have nailed it on the first run. As it was we chased him around,
depth charging and using our other weapon for five and a half hours, and
finally lost contact. The sea was so heavy I had several men
washed off their feet while reloading the D C and it was impossible to
man the forecastle while making over ten knots. As it was a pitch black
night we had no visible evidence of damage to the sub.
I have
seen the results of the German's early war bombings and they really are
terrible. On the other hand they aren't as bad as the British
would lead you to believe. Our people at home who sit around on
their fat fannies and bellyache about helping the Red Cross or rationing
or are striking, make me so mad I'd like to come home and do a little
shooting in our own backyards. The Red Cross is doing a marvelous
job and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Congratulations on making the Captain's list, Stan. I surely hope
you make it. I have taken the last two but with no books to study
have not done much on them, of course. Would you mind sending me a
list of the books you studied so that I can obtain them in time to
really try and be ready for next year's exam. I want to stay in
the Navy, but doubt seriously that I will have an opportunity because of
my age. I made a "spot promotion" to Lt. Comdr. on 31
January. This was made possible by having command of a DE and
handling it satisfactorily for a period of three months. I took over
command last September. It doesn't look as though I would make the
regular list until next September, if then.
This
has become quite an epistle, much to my surprise, but my arm is
beginning to ache now. Hope this effort will priduce results. . .
One of these days we are dur to get five inch guns and when that happens
I'm coming home on a real leave. . .
Best regards,
Don
Lt. Comdr. D. R. Shaul,
U.S.S. O'Reilly (De-330)
Care FPO, New York.
Source: The Fireman's Grape Vine, June
1945
|