I’m talking about my Dad's letters. The ones he wrote to my mother during WWII. My mom gave them to me years ago, and I've moved them around with me.
About ten years ago, we downsized our library, and I was positive my husband accidentally gave them away. He offered many cartons of books to two young Baylor University preacher boys, and I couldn't find my box after that. I thought the keepsakes were gone forever. I hoped the young preachers would find the letters and donate them to a WWII museum.
Hubby was in the attic a few days ago and brought down several containers. Was I ever surprised and happy! The letters and memorabilia are found!
The letters are posted from Los Angeles, Camp Berkly, Texas, Fort Sill Oklahoma, and Fort Dix New Jersey. I plan to organize them by dates. A few have no postmarks, only a return address. The word "free" appears where the stamp should be.
In one of the posts, my dad tells my mom that he loves me, and then he adds, "even if you don't think I do." I guess my mom had written her concern—my dad hadn’t met me, and I suppose she thought he therefore couldn’t love me. My dad didn't see me until I was two years old, but he knew I belonged to him, and he loved me.
In another letter, he asked if I was still blonde. I was blonde when he finally saw me, but My hair grew darker with age. Early on, it turned white like my dad's.
In another letter, he wrote, "you won't know me. I'm white headed and weigh 145 pounds." He mentioned several times that he and the troops were hungry. He also wrote that they hadn't been paid.
He, along with coutless others, stormed the Normandy beaches. D-Day was June 6. His battallian fought their way in on June 7, known as D-Day Plus One.
My dad had to be transported from France to England and was in the hospital in country for weeks. In one letter, he wrote, "I bought a dozen eggs from a lady, boiled them here in the ward, and ate them all." Perhaps he had been paid by then. On the other hand, it appears from the communication that guys serving often wrote home for money, but he said he never would do that.
The carton contains letters written over a four-year period, it also has a pair of my mom's shoes, an old iron, and a box with two packages of unopened Chesterfield cigarettes.
There is also a Thanksgiving menu from a hospital in McKinny, TX. Like most WWII guys, Dad never spoke much about his war experiences, and I didn't know about this hospital stay. Based on the date of the menu, he had returned to the USA, and was recovering at a hospital in Texas.
Look closely at the bottom of the menu. The patients were treated to cigarettes after their Thanksgiving meal.
Reading these treasures is like studying a family history book.
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