WWII Letters to My Girl Back Home

Our group of Air Force weather men left Camp Patrick Henry, Virginia, on a showery April day, laden like donkeys with pack, blankets and equipment. A band escorted us to the train and we stepped directly from the train onto the ship.

Slowly the Liberty ship steamed away from the dock through the dirty brown water. When compared to our recent grim instructions for surviving (theoretically!) while swimming away from a torpedoed ship in burning fuel oil, our departure seemed strangely uneventful. The SS Ralph Izzard was carrying, among other war materials, crates of fighter planes bound for Murmansk. We 87 weather men were incidental. The government was determined that each ship be loaded to capacity, regardless of whether it transported ammunition, servicemen or mules.

Having been assigned quarters, we were free to wander about the vessel, so long as we stayed out of restricted areas. Those of us who had never been aboard an oceangoing ship found the Ralph Izzard fascinating. American know-how was producing ships at a faster rate than any maritime construction the world had ever known, 426,533 tons in 1940 increasing to 10,142,776 tons in 1944, 23 times as many, with over 2,700 Liberties produced during the war.

Some 441 feet long, 57 feet wide and displacing 14,000 tons, the Ralph Izzard was able to reliably haul cargo anywhere in the world. Driven by a sturdy 2,500 horsepower steam engine, the ship had a speed of 11 knots. With capacity for 50,000 gallons of fuel oil, and plenty of provisions for weeks at sea, the vessel was a self-contained floating village. We felt confident that it would take us to our destination--not that we knew where we were going.

Sixteen long wartime months had passed since I had been drafted. Time enough had elapsed to have become a trained weather observer, to have experienced army life in four states of the US, and most importantly to have found the right girl. We saved our letters from each other.

Fifty-odd years later, as I reread them, I see a couple of young people, idealistic, optimistic and high-spirited. Millions of other soldiers had their stories, too. However, I was lucky to have been sent to so many unusual places, and I'm glad we still have all the letters written at that time, describing not only events and places, but how we felt about it all.

An occasional page has a word cut out, where an army censor deleted military information unintentionally divulged. Because we did our best not to write anything which would have value if the letters fell into enemy hands, the dates and locations of some events are lacking. Moreover, we soldiers pretty well kept any fears or misgivings about the voyage to ourselves. There was no need to alarm those back home. Also, if some of the sentiment seems a bit cloying, our feelings were sincere.

On April 14, I wrote:

I've not been the least bit seasick. Lots of the guys have, but only about half the group.

This is really a nice set-up, little or no work, having the run of the ship, nothing to do for a long time but read and relax. So far, I've had no difficulty occupying my time. We have three delicious meals daily--even better than those of my former camp, and we are so lazy that we resent even the intrusion of mealtime into our peace and quiet.

Last night I went out on the deck and looked at the sea and sky. There's nothing like it. One of the strangest sights is the phosphorescence of the water. It glows like a luminous watch when the waves break, due to many tiny animals being disturbed.

Yesterday the water was green, but today it was blue as a picture--absolutely different from any water I ever saw. Sometimes I think we're gaining money from the government. Cruises like ours would cost hundreds of dollars in peacetime.

April 15
Atlantic Ocean

Lazy, lazy day; nothing to do but read a bit, think and relax. We eat and sleep and grow beards-- at least some of the guys do. However, I prefer to shave. Classes in French and Arabic are beginning, and I'm enrolled in both, but we go too fast.

Yesterday the PX opened and I bought some candy and a little bit of junk.

We have more fun spreading rumors. Of course nobody believes them, but here are a few: "The captain of the ship is now on his first voyage. He has fits. The Von Tirpitz (German battleship) is sailing in our convoy. Men are secretly being thrown overboard at night; Subs are chasing us. The ship's guns won't fire. All the ammunition on board is in the form of blanks . . ." Actually we know that all this is a joke; probably the rumors wouldn't exist if they were true. But they are fun.

April 16, 1944
The Broad Atlantic

Sunday--just nine weeks ago tonight we were enjoying our last date for a long time. Now, out here on the ocean, any romance must be on paper, and there are no letters from you for inspiration.

Situations such as ours put a lot more emphasis on old-fashioned faith than those in peacetime. In a way, the entire problem deals in faith--being in a war because we believe in something strongly enough to fight for it--the faith of the people over there that we are on our way to render help, and our faith in the people back home. By now you have just about received my last letter written in the States, and for many weeks you will be without mail, hoping that one comes along soon. Yet I know that each night you will be writing me, just as I am writing you, and that sooner or later we will be together to stay.

There were church services on deck today, consisting mainly of singing. The boys had the right spirit, even if the tunes were lacking a little. Songs about the sea were very real. For instance, "Let the Lower Lights Be Burning". The ocean has an irresistible power that compels respect from all persons, especially at night. But by the time you're reading this, the only voyage facing me will be the one returning when the war is over, say in a couple of years.