Trumbull – Dear Network Stations (5) – Grandpa’s Final Comments – September16, 1945

This is the final section of a long letter from Grandpa to family members around the world.

The Trumbull House prior to 1950

Now for a few asides, comments, remarks, criticisms, insults or what have you. Dave, your letter cleared up a number of points I have been wondering about. The comments I would make to most of the things are obvious. I’m thinking the way people back home here are kicking up a fuss with Congress in the Army that you will be home long before Christmas, 1946. Dan, Airmail from your and might also cut down the 16 day transit time for regular mail. Last week I got off to you and adapter made to Lad’s specifications of aluminum by the Singer Mfg. So. Through  Zeke’s courtesy. I tried to send it by air mail but P.O. said no. I also sent a box with a couple of cans of meat for the Rabets, a few items for the Senechals and a couple of items for Paulette. More clothing items will be sent this week. All on the list have either been purchased or ordered, excepting the watch and wool. I am also greatly elated about the grandchild news. I am hoping it can be born here in little old Trumbull, but as you say, we’ll just have to wait for developments. Jean, enclosed is Paulette’s letter to you, with translation by Dan. Your check was mailed last week. The Washington phone calls totaled $4.85, if you must know. Thanks for the ration books.

Next week, along with new quotes (I hope), I will probably have an account of the APG’s trek through upper N.E. and N.Y. Coming up, one birthday for Dave. Hope he gets that raise, or better yet, an H.D., along with that phantom camera I have not yet been able to find for him. Dan, the latest, according to a Paris radio report, is that Adolph Hitler is hiding out in Bridgeport, Conn. I haven’t had any orders recently from a man named Schickelgruber so I cannot vouch for the authenticity of the rumor. I’m sneezing off now until next week.

DAD

Tomorrow and Sunday, I’ll post more information about the End of an Era.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Network Stations (3) – Quotes From Internationalist Dan – September 16, 1945

Daniel Beck and Paulette (Van Laere) Guion on July 17th, 1945

And Internationalist Dan writes way back on August 25th, by regular, not airmail, “Mail service is immensely improved— 5 to 6 days by airmail. Thus I am answering your August 19th letter today; and a rather amusing situation it is too, reading your account of how the war ended in Trumbull, because over here it is not yet official although we are convinced that the formality alone is lacking. But the spontaneity of celebration seems to have suffered an even greater blow than that of VE day because of rumors and preliminary reports. No tolling of bells, no blowing of horns, no demonstration of any kind has marked the end of the war, in Drancy, although I understand that the Yanks in downtown Paris cut up a bit on 16th of Aug. I am excited at the prospect of Lad’s getting home so unexpectedly. If only it is true! And if only I had known! Speaking of getting home, I hope you can send me those articles for Paulette as soon as possible because I might be leaving soon. She will not be able to leave for a matter of months because she must wait for an immigration visa from Philadelphia. Also if pregnant (which seems definite) she might be prohibited from sailing on any Army transport until the child is three months old. There is always the alternative of civilian transportation but waiting lists are long and space is limited. It seems that we must just make the best of it. While I remain in

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France it is feasible to send parcels but whether or not it will be possible after I leave I cannot say. So please don’t wait for the fall and winter catalog. Enclosed are two belated letters, one to Marian and the other to Jean that Chiche wrote last May. They were mailed to me while I was in Maastricht but were returned to Calais undelivered. We are both excited about the “expectations”. Chiche asks if it is possible to buy wool in America. She wants six lobs of wool, two each of pink, light blue and white. Our Army program is undergoing the throes of reorganization. We are hoping to get a good educational program started and perhaps I can take the Paris University course. It looks now as if I might get home in November or December. If you get a chance, please write a letter of thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Rabet, 5 rue Cuvier, Drancy, Seine, France. They have given us (Chiche and I) every form of hospitality imaginable and will not accept any money for it. I manage to find small presents for them such as cigarettes and soap but I feel very much in debt to them. Most of their food is bought on the black market because the legal ration is too slim. They particularly miss meat. If you can find any kind of canned meat or fish, please send it.

(Cease quotes. Red (Don Sirene) dropped in a while ago to see Lad, who is at present touring New England with his wife, and was accompanied by his fiancée, Geraldine Fisher. He asked me if I had seen the Bpt. Herald (Bridgeport Herald newspaper) headline which read: “Corp. Sirene wins Syracuse belle”. He said Jack Filman and Bill Palmer were fresh out of the service and that Barbara Plumb (Dan’s former girlfriend, who enlisted as a WAC) was expected home in November.)

Tomorrow and Friday, I’ll post the final segments of this letter.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Network Stations (2) – More Quotes From Dave – September 16, 1945

This post continues quotes from Dave, with insights and observations from a 19 year old.

This is the Water Works building in downtown Manila where Dave works on one of the upper floors.

The other important thing I want to tell you is far more saddening to me. A group of the boys went down to Shuri — I think it was the last Sunday in July — souvenir hunting. There were about nine of them. Shuri was a scene of hard but swift fighting. Naturally there were a lot of explosives left there by the swift advancing army. Minefields weren’t cleared and duds were still left lying around without being detonated. The supply sergeant, who is a wild sort of guy, saw a Jap dud and raised his foot to kick it. Al Rundel, who was in my class

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back at Crowder, told him not to kick the dud, and when he saw him doing it anyway, he dropped to the ground. The dud went off throwing shrapnel all over the place. Bernie Arnold was in front of Sgt. Hamm, the guy who kicked the dud, and caught most of the shrapnel right in his stomach. He screamed and fell to the ground. He died about an hour later. There were three of us who were quite good friends — Hensley, Bernie and myself. Hensley was there and saw the whole thing. He gave me the complete story which wasn’t very pretty. I’ll never forgive Sgt. Hamm for the damned-fool thing he did. If we’ve seen one training film about leaving duds and charges alone, we’ve seen fifty. He escaped with the damaged foot. Leg injury to one of the cooks, complete paralysis to the arm of one of the clerks and other cuts and bruises were some of the other damage done. But as usual, it was the best man of all that had to die. Naturally I felt terrible about the accident and loss of Bernie. I want to church that night and that helped, but not enough. I felt pretty bad for a number of days. All I could think of was the picture he had shown me so many times of himself, his wife and his three-year-old daughter sitting in front of their Christmas tree the year before last. To top it all off, about two days later I got a letter from Ellie asking me to thank Bernie for the bracelet he had made from a Jap plane, which I had sent her. Bertie was no longer there to thank. He had missed the end of the war only by a few months. He was 38 and would probably be on his way home now. I’m doing crypt work here or at least I will be when our Co. get set up in Korea in a few days. We will handle the communications between GHQ and the Co. I think the rest of the Co. will be in Korea. We are no longer a monitoring Co. and now have reverted back to a plain service Co. When the rest of the Co. landed on Okinawa, Lieut. Greenberger intended to give me the T/4 that was open on our team. At that time he didn’t know how good Salamone was, and was more deserving of the rating and been in grade longer than I. So Sallie got the rating but Lieut. G. told me that when the chance permitted, he would see if he could promote me. As he is in charge of the group here in Manila, my chances are fairly good I think. All I’ve got to do is stay on the ball. The only trouble is it’s been so long since I’ve worked in a code room, as up in Okie I was working in the compilation section.

Tomorrow, Thursday and Friday, I’ll post the rest of this long letter. The posts will include more news from Dan and also news from Brazil.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Sonny (2) – Extracts From Rusty Huerlin’s Letter To Ced – November 12, 1944

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Friday’s local paper recorded the death of Tom Cullen, who had been ill for about six months. Cancer, I believe, was the cause of death starting with a face infection and finally going to his brain. In his early 40’s, it is quite a loss to scouting.

These last two weekends I have not only been busy at the office but the breeze has been enough to make it a bit dangerous for me to attempt to put up storm windows alone perched on a rickety ladder, so we are not yet set for old man winter’s onslaughts. I have the furnace running however and so far the house has been comfortable.

Perhaps this would be a good occasion to send a few extracts from Rusty’s letter to Ced written August 14th from Barrow, Alaska. He describes the perilous run from Nome to Barrow in a 44-foot powerboat, five of them, all together, as crew, the boat 5-tons overloaded on deck, running into storm after storm. “I have seen high waves off Cape Hatteras and in the North Sea but never so close to rough weather as what we ran into on the “ADA”. Conrad would have made a book out of it. None of us ever expected to see land again and I know now why men pray. Hope becomes one concentration and that a tremendous thing. I pumped and pumped and pumped and pumped and never taxed my heart as much before as we kept taking in water and more water. Finally the engine quit. One of the Eskimo crew saved the lives of all of us by getting out 9 fathoms of anchor line and holding onto the end of the line probably two minutes before he could get 2 feet of it to make a turn on the forward bit. None of us could get to him, the sea was so rough. And that was the beginning of a 24-hour battle with the devil in that deep green sea. Finally we could take it no more and made for a lagoon. Breakers were 5 miles long over shoals. When soundings showed we were in only 6 feet of water one of the men yelled “Let’s get the hell out of here.” But it was too late. We struck bottom, went over on our starboard side, shipped water to soak me from head to foot where I stood on one ear in the cabin. Water poured down into the engine room to kill engine. All we could do was to blow the foghorn to summon Eskimos in tents on shore to get out what help they could offer. All this happened so quickly, and the next breaker sucked us so hard that we went some 10 feet sideways, and then the miracle of all miracles happened. The ADA righted herself. We had been smacked over the bar. We rolled helplessly in deeper water until blown into the channel. Finally we got the engine started and motored into behind a sand spit breakwater. 15 minutes later a gang of Eskimos came aboard saying we were the luckiest people they had ever seen. We all knew that. Not one boat in a million could do the same thing again. After laying up for five days we finally made Wainright. Here we unloaded most of the freight and took on as passengers storm bound Eskimos unable to return to Barrow in their boats heavily loaded with coal. So we left there towing five whale boats and about 25 Eskimos to sweeten the forecastle and share with us the four bunks when the next storm came. We had then run into icebergs 20 feet high and were forced outside of them and land. 60 miles of this. The kids had gotten over their seasickness and there was no more rushing from below to punk pots. One woman had six children. She and all of them had been sick in my bunk. But that was nothing. After one storm I had laid down in more filth than could be found in a garbage can and never felt more clean in my life. To sleep alongside of those shipmates after trying to take what they did uncomplainingly was the finest sensation I have yet experienced. I have made four friends I shall never forget.” More at some later date.

DAD

Tomorrow and Sunday I will post more Special Pictures.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Sonny (1) – Marian’s Birthday Celebration – November 12, 1944

              Marian Irwin Guion (Mrs. Lad)

Trumbull, Conn., Nov. 12, 1944.

Dear Sonny:

It gets a bit puzzling how to address you youngsters each week without repeating some salutation used in former letters, and in this respect perhaps Dan has the right idea of plunging right into the letter without wasting time on the customary form of address. Sometimes I sit for a couple of minutes puzzling how to begin this week’s screed, so today I just wrote the above applying to each of you individually and collectively.

Yesterday was not only Armistice Day but also Marian’s birthday, and following the usual custom we celebrated it today. Elizabeth, who came to dinner with her two boys (Zeke came in later, he having been to his mother’s to see Irv, who is home on leave), was able to get, through her butcher, a nice ham, quite a rarity these days, and that with some of Burrough’s cider of sainted memory, baked sweet potatoes, cauliflower, topped off with Guion’s celebrated prune whip, was followed with the opening of gifts amid the soft glow of candlelight – – in the dining room, of course. Lad had sent me a bottle of Marian’s favorite perfume earlier in the week and this happened to be the last gift she opened which topped off things with an unexpectedly pleasant surprise for her. Doing as much as we can, however, these days still lack that intangible something that used to be present with all you boys gathered around in your accustomed places. It is so pleasant having Marian added to the home circle that she and Jean supply what would otherwise be a very quiet and almost somber occasion.

Yesterday Lad wrote from “somewhere in the United States”, or I should say Marian got a letter yesterday written the day before but from where is one of those wartime secrets. He was unable to give the slightest inkling of what is planned, but at least it is clear he did not sail Tuesday with Carl on his transport, although even this sailing is just conjecture.

Ced saved the day from being a news blank week by making it possible for an Alaskan letter to reach me Saturday. The address on the envelope definitely puts me into the local wood choppers union along with Sidney Hillman of C.I.O. fame and other Roosevelt supporters. In spite of the old saying, there appear to be about 20 million Americans who voted for the wrong man, and being quite disgusted I shall not even comment on the horrible example of poor judgment on the part of the majority of U.S. citizens. Undaunted, however, I shall try again four years from now.

To come back to Ced, from what he says the traditional method of celebrating Halloween is practiced even in far-off Alaska. Here, it was very quiet, most of the Trumbull hell raisers having transferred their affections to pestering Japs and Jerries. Ced also recounts in his usual modest manner that he was duly elected President of the Anchorage ski club and has already gotten his committees working. Among other things they are planning a trip to Independence Mines and their annual ski rally. In his letter Ced enclosed a money order and for Dan’s benefit I quote: “Ten dollars of it are to be put into Dan’s account. It is payment for his Spanish records and I hope he will be satisfied. No one seems to know what they were worth, and as the girls had them in the cellar and wanted to clean out the place, they decided to try to sell them. Eleanor Oman has gone out to live with her mother in the states and before she left she made the deal with some soldiers.”

Tomorrow I’ll post the conclusion of this letter including a few extracts from Rusty’s letter to Ced.

Judy Guion

Special Picture # 350 – A Trip To Florida – March, 1936

I knew that my father had taken a trip to Florida with these guys because Art Mantle’s niece, Cindy, (my friend from childhood) sent me a couple of pictures of my Dad. A while ago, I was looking for a particular picture and I came across this picture. A few weeks later, I was looking for the same picture and came across this letter that I don’t ever remember seeing. Some additional information on that trip.

Art Mantle, Carl Wayne, Arnold Gibson and Lad Guion

This looks like Lad is reading something on his mattress on a beach in Florida

I had thought this trip had taken place in 1935 because that’s what my Mom had written on the back of this picture. The letter below is postmarked March, 1936. 

Thursday

SARASOTA

FLORIDA

Dear Dad:

        How do you like our new stationary. We  got some  from   each of  the  numerous  Hotels  here, but I think this is the best. We  are here  in  Sarasota  visiting  some  distant  relatives  here of Carl’s.  It is really a very pretty place and  the  weather is  fine. The  biggest trouble  is  the  sulfur  water  but  we  are  beginning  to  get  used  to  it.

        If  you  want  to  write  you  can  send  it  to  general  delivery, Miami. We  are  leaving  here  tomorrow  afternoon  for  the  last  leg of  the  trip  in  a  southern  direction.  Everything  is  fine  except that  after  leaving  Aunt  Anne’s  * Monday  afternoon  and stopping  at  Silver  Springs  for  a  short  visit, a bearing  burned  just  outside  of  Ocala. This  time  it was  number one. But  again  the  Ford  is  running  fine. Now I have  invented  an  oil  pump to  keep oi l  in  the  front  of  the motor  to  eliminate  the  trouble  of  overheated  bearings.

        We  all  went  swimming  this  afternoon  and  got  slightly burned  on  the  beach. The water was  cool  at  first  but  after  the first  dip  it  was  pretty  good.

        We  are  going  to  look  the  town  over  tonight  and  I still have  to  get  shaved  and  dressed  so  as  much  as  I hate  to,  I will have  to  let  it  go  until  some  other  time.

        Hope  to  hear  from  you  in  Miami.

                                                                       Love

                                                                           Lad

* Lad and his friends, Art Mantle, Carl Wayne and Arnold Gibson stopped to visit Grandma Arla’s younger sister, Anne (Peabody) Stanley in St. Petersburg, Florida. This is where Elizabeth (Biss) went during her Junior year in High School to help Aunt Anne care for her two children, Don and Gwen Stanley, in 1934. This story is told in the Category, “St. Petersburg, FL”.

Tomorrow, another Special Picture.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Lad (2) – Good Investment – November 5, 1939

Grandpa with Mack on the side yard

Page 2 of R-48

Your reference to the pilot, Dave Duryea was quite interesting. I wonder if he is not some relation. My mother was a Duryee or Duryea as it was sometimes spelled. Her father, Joseph Duryee was one of several brothers, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob (twins) Joseph, my grandfather and William. Abraham was a noted general in the Civil War, head of the Duryee Zouaves and commander of the famous 7th Regiment of New York. Perhaps that will give enough of the family background to enable him to identify the family if he knows the family history. The family originally was Long Island Dutch and before that were French Huguenots.

Your comments on the prospects of taking Mr. Leander’s place versus being a diesel man are interesting. I think your idea of playing along for a while to see what happens is a good idea. It may be if the new man is a veteran or expert diesel man and you, more or less, come in contact with him, one of two things will happen. You will have an opportunity to learn something from him that will increase your knowledge or he will soon learn your value and knowledge in this field, and if the work increases so that he will need an assistant, he will want you and you will be in line for advancement in this field, as you now are in the transportation and garage line.

It is now 7:45. The electricity in all the vicinity is still absent. My one candle is burning low and I don’t know how much more of this letter I can write under the circumstances, but there is one topic I want to cover before the candle fails entirely. Perhaps you remember Bob Shedden. He is now selling a form of investment known as Investors Syndicate. He told me about it. I had heard it before and knew it was a good thing. I told him I would take out, in your name, a share or whatever they call it, which will cost about $130 a year and which at the end of 15 years yields a good income, which in the meantime is entirely safe. It is a combination of all the best features of Building and Loan, insurance and investment combined. I have asked him to write you about the details and have you sign the necessary papers, but I have definitely told him to go ahead. I will take care of the payment out of the money you send home. I don’t approve of putting all funds in one thing, putting all your eggs in one basket, as the saying goes. So with the home building and loan card, for which I have received duly signed by you, and this Investors Syndicate, we have a good diversification in, but will yield a good income in time, be safe and still leave some funds to be invested in some other form of investment that will be worthwhile.

I brought Elizabeth home from St. Vincent’s Hospital on Monday. The baby (Raymond Zabel, Jr., Biss (Elizabeth (Guion) Zabel) and Zeke Zabel’s son) is a cute little tyke and seems to be good and doesn’t cry much. Well boy, this is about all that little candle will permit me to do tonight. Until next week, then old Laddie, my very best hopes and wishes and love from your one and only    DAD

I know about the 7th Regiment of New York but I’ll do some additional research and do at least one post about that. It’s quite an interesting story.

Tomorrow and Sunday, more Special Pictures.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Lad (1) – Candlelight – November 5, 1939

At this point in 1939, Dan has returned to Trumbull from Venezuela and is attending the University of Connecticut at Storrs. Lad is the only son away from home as he continues to work for an oil company in Venezuela. With his weekly letters, Grandpa  makes sure Lad knows what is going on in Trumbull and within the family.

R-48 of Nov. 5, 1939

Dear Lad:

This is stormy afternoon. It has been raining all day– a steady, hard downpour with a high wind, whistling and howling and beating the rain against the windows, by contrast making the lights and the cozy fire in the fireplaces all the more cheery by contrast. It is for 4:45. Dan has just come back with Barbara and Jean.

(lapse of some time) It is now six o’clock. Just as I will wrote the above sentence, the lights went out. They are still out and am proceeding with this by candlelight. Dan is trying to pop corn over the open fire. Barbara (Plumb, Dan’s girlfriend)  is lending him moral support. Dick and Dave are singing to accompany Dick on his guitar, assisted by Jean (Hughes) and Barbara. Ced has gone to work (I don’t envy him on his outdoor job in this weather).

    Daniel Beck Guion

The following message is transcribed: ”I saw one of your old girlfriends recently. I have been told that she used to engage you in conversation by the hour when you drove the school bus. I have further been informed that your repeated attempts at discouraging her advances fell flat. Her name? Alice Habersham! She had a small part in a play which was presented in Trumbull by the Ladies Improvement Society, Munroe. I did not meet la muchacha, but Jean told me the story. Dan”

      Cedric Duryee Guion

Whimpy expired the other day — died of a broken axle while Ced was driving her home from Bridgeport. He had just about decided to sell the tires to Carl. He is now preparing to register old Peep., after he gets another tire, battery and a waterproof top.

Tuesday is usually the day mail reaches me from Pariaguan and I’ve been fearing, all this week, that this would be another time I did not hear from you regularly, but the day was saved by a welcome letter in the box when I went for the mail yesterday. I note you are a convert to the theory of relaxation. I suppose what you say is good advice, but there is a difference in temperaments that has to be taken into account. You are more like your mother, who could do just what you find works so well in your case. I don’t know as I do relax completely in the sense that you mean, but when I have nothing to occupy my leisure moments, such as a good book or cooking the meals, or writing letters or doing crossword puzzles or listening to the radio, I am apt to concern myself about the bills or problems at the office or some non-comforting thought, so as an escape, I like to put these things away that do not profit anything by thinking about them. I believe my health is apt to be better by replacing worrying thoughts by some form of activity than it would be by trying to relax and have disturbing thoughts intruding into my solitude. Anyway the only way I can truly relax is by getting away from the ordinary, everyday obligations that force themselves on one’s attention. That’s why a sea voyage is prescribed so many times I suppose. Someday, maybe I can leave all the things that call for attention here and start out on a voyage to see my eldest son in his South American haunts. I’ve always felt any way, that I would much rather wear out than rust out. It’s nice to know that your old man’s well-being concerns you. Right now you are doing the maximum job contributing to my piece of mind by your contribution to the family exchequer. If it were not for your financial help I would have a real serious problem that I could not help worrying about…

Tomorrow I will post the rest of this letter.

Judy Guion

Friends – Dear Lad – Investors Syndicate – November 4, 1939

This is the letter accompanying the “Application” for the Fifteen-Year Investment Contract Lad is applying for that Grandpa has recommended.

62 Center Street

Southport, Conn.

Nov. 4, 1939.

Dear “Lad”,

I am writing you at the request of your father in reference to his purchase for you of one unit ($2500) Investors Syndicate plan.

After discussing this with him, he decided that this would be a fine thing for you to own.

Since it would take volumes to give you every detail of the Company, its background etc. I am not going to attempt to go into these details in this letter since I have gone over the whole thing with your Dad. However he suggested that I forward to you one of our brochures which will give you all the dope in case you want to refer to it at a later date.

The main purpose of this letter is to have you sign the application where I’ve indicated in pencil. It is only necessary to sign one of these but I am sending to in case you should, by some outside chance, lot the signature or make an error. As you probably know, companies do not accept contracts of this nature that show any erasure or changes.

We also sign the small slip as receipt for our booklet “A Presentation of Living Protection”. This will go forward to you in this same mail but I’m not sending it airmail since the cost, I am told, would be exorbitant.

After you have returned the application to me, the company will issue a formal contract which I will deliver to your father for safekeeping in your name.

I presume you will remember who I am since I used to see you frequently when I was at the Bay Company and other times at your father’s office.

I was very interested in learning about your job with Standard Oil and wish you all kinds of luck. With kindest regards,

Sincerely,

Robert F. Shedden

This is just the top of the Application. 

 

Tomorrow and Friday, I will be posting a letter from Grandpa to Lad expressing gratitude and giving some advice. Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Chillens (1) – All’s Right With The World – September 9, 1945

This week I will be posting letters written in the fall of 1945. Lad has come home from France, Dan has married a French girl in Calais, France, Ced is still in Anchorage, Alaska, Jean has travelled to Santaliza, Brazil, to be with her husband, Dick and Dave is in Manila, Philippines).

Trumbull, Conn., Sept. 9, 1945.

Dear Chillens:

Following its prescribed course, my faithful hay fever reaches its climax right about now and, while I don’t think it has been quite so violent as in some years past, it still causes that feeling of low energy, peevishness and impatience, so that the effort to write this letter even, assumes unpleasant proportions.

Elizabeth, Zeke and the children came over to dinner today as sort of a pre-birthday celebration, and beside the birthday cake, made with Marian’s fair hands, I was also presented with a much needed white shirt and an equally desired union suits, with also the usual steel engravings of George Washington (Aunt Betty always gives a dollar bill in her birthday cards) accompanied by appropriate card from Aunt Betty. During the week I received a box of Brazilian cigars from guess who, and this, with the box of cigars Lad brought me, will keep me in smokes for a while.

Five or six separate communications from the Dan B. Guion’s during the week sort of makes up for lost time and Dave also makes our Quotes Dept. take on new life.

First a letter dated Aug. 2nd, from Ghent, Belgium, reads: At last a short note from your French relatives. I suppose Lad has already informed you of the Big Day. I did not write sooner because there is no APO in Calais and I saw no official Americans for over three weeks. But the honeymoon is over and I am on my way back to Paris via Ghent. (There is more superseded by later letters)

Aug. 13th. I arrived here in Drancy on Aug. 3rd. Chiche tentatively had decided to come on Aug. 4th, but when I visited her relatives here in Drancy, I found she had wired she would come on the 6th. But alas, they had no room for her because several other members of the family had come there for the marriage of Paulette’s cousin. Friends in Drancy, however, with prodigal generosity, offered me all the facilities of their house for as long as we wished. So we wired Paulette to come. Paulette arrived in Paris about 3:30 and wired for me to meet her. The message went astray through a misunderstanding here at the barracks, and after waiting four hours in Paris, decided to come to Drancy. We finally got together shortly after 8 P.M. Chiche was rather upset to learn she could not stay with her relatives, and to make matters worse, the acting Co. Commander (the same officer who had sent me back to Drancy from Calais last April against my wishes) told me that I could not stay overnight with my wife more than one night per week. “Regulations,” he said. I thought he might offer to try to make a dispensation but he said no more. I thanked him and left his office. Later that day I happened to meet Maj. Minor, who is a high official in the Battalion. I presented my problem to him and immediately he offered to help me, saying he was quite certain it could be arranged. So back I went to the acting C.O. to apologize for having “gone over his head”. Far from forgiving me, he was furious. His face became flushed, his fingers beat a tattoo on the table. “I don’t like it” he growled, “but if the Major says it’s all right, there’s nothing more I can do about it.” So now, no menacing clouds remain to obscure promising horizons. I stay each night with Chiche. A new commanding officer has taken charge. The war is collapsing. “All’s right with the world.”

Tomorrow, more news of Dan and Paulette (Chiche) from this letter.

Judy Guion