Letter 273- January 31, 1946

January 31, 1946

Giessen, Germany (Hesse)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I decided the other day that I wouldn’t write to you until my promotion came through, but now I see that the same old incompetence prevails. Captain Wollner has started home and without him around to give these guys a kick in the pants every five minutes they don’t get anything done. My recommendation has been in for over a month now but we still haven’t heard a thing about it. Twice Captain Wollner found our papers lying around in some office and jumped somebody about it but now that he’s gone I don’t know what will happen. Likely as not the papers will be lost and we shall never hear anything more about it. You remember some orders for the recommendation of a Bronze Star were lost in the same way. After all that they come around and tell us that we’ll really be passing up a great chance by not reenlisting in the Regular Army. HA! They should live so long.

I’ve finally got one break anyway. That is that on the fifth I’m leaving for Switzerland. From what I’ve heard it should really be a swell trip. The army has taken over a couple of the finest hotels available and really made a swell thing out of it. Everybody that’s been there says that they’ve never seen a nicer setup. The trip will cost me a flat rate of thirty-five dollars but since I’ll probably never get a chance to see it again I believe that it’ll be well worth it.

I’ll be sure to write you a couple of letters from there to save as souvenirs, and try to get some presents if it is still possible. I doubt very seriously if Switzerland will compare very well with California the way I feel right now but it will make a nice break in the damn waiting. If I leave here on the fifth I probably won’t be back for ten days anyway and then it shouldn’t be much more than a month at the outside before I enter the pipe line. The order to turn in the names of all fifty pointers came through today so you can see how the situation is going. According to the plan now in use I must be waterborne by April fifteenth and I believe that the army will try to get ahead on the schedule in order to get back into the good graces of the people at home.

There’s not much else to write tonight. The weather is still incredibly mild with no snow and only a little rain. We haven’t even had a slight freeze for more than a week now. Most of the people here are afraid that it will be a late winter with snow in March and April. Maybe so but it will have to get a helluva lot colder than it is right now.

We’re having a lot of trouble with the flu right here now. I’ve had a slight touch of it but nothing to amount to anything though. Some of the P.W.’s however, have been quite ill. I guess it’s the weather that’s doing it. It’s a lot like late March or April right now.

Well, this doesn’t make much of a letter but it’s about all that I have to say for tonight soooooooooo-

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 189-April 20, 1945

April 20, 1945
(Paris, France)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

You said that there would be a blank spot in the mail from me and I guess this breaks it. I really can’t remember myself how long it’s been. This war is like that. A person seems to lose thought of everything. You know what the situation is from the newspapers. I don’t see how this damn thing keeps going but it does. I can’t make heads of tails of it.

Anyway I’m in Paris in the spring. “April in Paris.” This sounds romantic doesn’t it? I was fortunate enough to draw a pass for Paris last week and I must say it came at a wonderful time. I was getting so fed up that I almost blew my top. My outfit all feel that way.

Maybe it’s only because I’ve just come off the lines, but Paris seems to be all it was ever claimed to be. It’s broad tree-lined streets, perfumed atmosphere, its millions of apparently worthless but charming people—it’s all here.

There are automobiles everywhere and at night the city is lit up as if there never was such a thing as war. In fact all of Paris is out at night. I do believe that there are more people around at night than in the daytime. There’s only one place I’d rather be and that’s home.

I went on a tour yesterday and had this picture taken in the “Place de Concorde.” Where we stand is the spot where the guillotine stood during the Revolution. Just out of the picture, on the left is the American embassy. In front of us is the famous Egyptian obelisque of Luxor and beyond is the Seine and the Chambre of Deputies. I’m standing in approximately the center of the third row. We saw almost all the important sights. The Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, I think, were the least impressive. The Arc d` Tromphe was impressive. We paid our respects to France’s “Unknown Soldier.” Napoleon’s Tomb, I believe, was the most impressive of all. The church was built in the 17th. century. The windows are made in such a way that there is sunlight in the church even on a cloudy day. I couldn’t swear to that, however, since the day was beautiful.

I’ve had some pictures taken while I was here. I don’t know how long they’ll be but they’ll be along anytime.

An artist here drew a fair sketch of me the other day. I’ll send that along too.

I’ll try to write again tomorrow.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 153- November 25, 1944-2

November 25, 1944-2
(France V-Mail)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

This is my permanent address:

[Co. “A” 399th. Inf.
A.P.O 446]

I can’t say what Division I’m with yet or exactly where. Generally, I am in eastern France. I can tell you where I’ve been recently. I landed at Le Harve. We were some of the first American troops in there. From Le Harve we went to Belgium and finally to Givet. On the border from there we came here. I hope all the above was O.K. They said so.

Lots of love. I’m a little pressed for time so I’d better close. Don’t worry if I don’t write very often. Things are moving awfully fast now.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 135- October 18, 1944

October 18, 1944
(England)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Today we had some more unusual weather—it rained; unusual for anyplace but England. I’m beginning to get that old water logged feeling.

I was telling you about my trip to London wasn’t I? Well I got up about 7:30 the next morning and went down to breakfast. Funny thing about European elevators or lifts as they call them over here. They take you up but you have to walk down. Anyhoo, they weren’t ready to serve so I decided to go out and buy a newspaper. It was Sunday so the streets were plenty dead at that time in the morning. I no more than got out the door, however, than I was mobbed by 3 bozos selling medals, ribbons and various other uniform decorations. I’m entitled to wear an E.T.O. ribbon and a good conduct ribbon but I wasn’t going to let those birds soak me 3 times what they were worth. Not all Yanks are dumbells and not all Yanks are millionaires. It was a nice day oddly enough—sunny with just a trace of haze so after I bought my paper I started to walk down Knightsbridge toward the center of town. I didn’t go far for fear of being lost, and anyway I didn’t have long until breakfast. As I went into the dining room I noticed that there was a tour of London to start about 9:45. We had potatoes and bacon, bread and butter, and some really good black coffee for breakfast. After that I sat in the lounge reading and listening to the American Armed Forces Network broadcast until time for the tour. Most clubs conduct “taxi tours”, but ours was a free tour à la “Shanks mare.” It doesn’t sound so good but it was swell. We had an old retired English major for a guide. He was a typical Col. Blimp but without the walrus moustache. You know, striped pants, gray spats, homburg hat, all the appearances of a conservative gentleman slightly run down at the heels.

Well, we started off—about 15 of us down Knightsbridge toward Piccadilly Circus. The old boy turned out to be quite a card and he turned out to be a damn good guide. He pointed out some of the clubs the old French Embassy and some of the homes of the nobility and royalty—From the outside they looked like nothing at all. Next we went through Hyde Park and to Wellington’s monument. Not much interesting there except the World War artillery monument which is an almost exact replica of a huge field piece in stone. The statues around it were all sandbagged. From there we passed the Palace Guarders. Although the fence is gone they still lock the gate every night at 12:00. British tradition. Phfft! We then walked around Buckingham Palace. It does look like Grand Central Station. The old boy explained the changing of the guard. They still change the guard—no fancy uniforms though (not Sunday). They’re not supposed to change it at all but they figured that they ought to put on some show for visiting G.I.’s so I imagine the guards who have to do the parading love us for it. They hate us anyway so what’s the difference? From there we went to Trafalgar Square. Everything Canadian in Britain, banks, etc. stands on one corner of that square. I noticed George Washington, a gift of Virginia on another corner. I’ll bet they appreciated that. Then we started down Whitehall where we saw the various gov’t. office, war office, Scotland Yard, etc.—No. 10 Downing St., the Monument to World War I’s unknown British soldier and down to the Houses of Parliament and the Abby. I also saw St. James Palace, which looked like Lincoln heights Vail, I believe. Those palaces are the least impressive things of all. I’ll show more details in my next letter. Gotta take a bath now.


Best Love,
Bill

Letter 126- September 24, 1944

September 24, 1944
(England)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I received two letters from you today and they were well in order. It was sure swell to get them. They were both postmarked the 4th however, and even with a war I think that 20 days is a “hellova” long time for a letter to be on its way. Oh hell! I got them and that’s what counts. I notice that the newspapers at home have been building up the ideal that the war would be over by the time we’d be able to say Jack Robinson. Of course it’s the same over here with British public opinion, but it’s still dragging on and Army people are not so enthusiastic. From what I saw of the Krauts back in the states this feeling is pretty well founded. Jerry is a tough baby and won’t give up until he’s had the living daylights knocked out of him. It could be over by the time this reaches you but I’ll bet it isn’t. (didn’t I butcher that last line though?)

Things are running pretty much according to plan with me these days—same old routine. It makes it rather difficult to write a decent letter as you can plainly see.

I don’t think the following will be censored now. I didn’t see anything against it. “Anyhoo” write me if what comes next ain’t here.

(Dear Censor, if you must—cut here

_____________________________________________
One of the cities I visited while at my last station was Chester, in Cheshire County. The town is about 20 miles from Liverpool and has quite a historical background. The name Chester itself comes from the Roman “castra” or fort and at one time a Roman garrison was stationed there. I saw some of the Roman works but they were rather meager.

Around the center of town is a wall that dates back to the 13th century. To me it’s difficult to believe that these things are so old. They don’t seem very well kept yet they’re in good condition considering their age. There is one tower on the wall that I climbed and stood in the spot where King Charles I watched Cromwell defeat his army on Rowland Moor in 1647 (me and King Charles). I saw some Abby Ruins (St. John’s I believe) which dated from 600 to around 1100. Also there is a magnificent cathedral dating from about 1250. In the town are a number of inns and alehouses built in Shakespeare’s time. All in all it was quite interesting.

I think I’d better close now. Hope all is well.

Best Love,

Bill

Letter 123- September 20, 1944

September 20, 1944
(England)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Just time for a short note tonight. I’ve had a real tough day of sitting on my posterior doing dry runs on rifle practice. If this soft life continues much longer I’ll be even a more confused bum than I am now, if such a thing is possible. It’s funny but the less I do the sooner I want to go to bed at night. Now it’s only 8:20 P.M. and I’m as sleepy as the devil.

The fellow who sleeps under me is from Modesto and this evening we got talking about travelling up the Redwood Highway and up the Columbia River. Oh boy! Does England look sick. Phooey. So far I’ve been to several of the large towns around here. If a plague and a blackout were to descend on Studio City it’d still be 3 times as lively as the largest of these dumps. Oh well, maybe I’m too exacting.

That’s about all I’ve got time now.

Bestus Love,
Bill

About Bill's Queen Mary Crossing

According to a log kept by Colonel Dallas D. Dennis of the New York Port of Embarkation, Bill and his company of Replacements departed from New York harbor on Sunday July 23, 1944 and landed at Gourock, Scotland on the following Friday July 28. The passage took 4 days, 22 hours, and 18 minutes. Average speed for the voyage was 28.02 knots and the troop transport traversed 3,315 nautical miles of ocean. There were 12,009 troops and a crew of 1,130 for a total of 13,139 passengers aboard.

Departures of the Queen Mary were usually made early in the morning or late in the evening to take advantage of high tide and screen the liner’s movements from view. As a precaution against Axis attacks, the ship never followed the same route twice. Even the ship’s Captain didn’t know her exact course until leaving port. A group of four or five destroyers escorted the liner for some 150 miles, and were then relieved by Navy patrol planes or blimps.

Once aboard ship life for the troops was regulated by the ships Standing Orders and the routine Daily Orders. Two meals were served aboard the Queen Mary daily, each in six staggered sittings with breakfast available from 6:30 to 11:00 am and dinner from 3:00 to 7:30 pm. The rotational system that governed meals also applied to sleeping arrangements. Only two thirds of the embarked troops could be accommodated in the liners 12,500 bunks, so 2,500 men were assigned sleeping areas on the ship’s deck. A regular rotation ensured that no one spent more than two nights “topside”. Many of the GI’s preferred the deck to the crowded spaces below, where the bunks were stacked six high in every available area and separated by only 18 inches. Understandably, most troops felt claustrophobic in such cramped quarters and felt that a man sleeping on deck had a better chance of survival should the ship be torpedoed.

After the Queen Mary was safely moored at the port of Gourock the soldiers would be loaded aboard waiting British Army trucks. The vehicles, forming a convoy that often stretched for miles, then wound through the streets of Gourock toward staging areas outside Glasgow. From there Bill and his fellow American troops would be sent to camps throughout Britain and, ultimately to the battlefronts of Europe.

Letter 112- July 30, 1944 (est.)

July 30, 1944)
(estimated date)
(V-MAIL)

Dear Mother and Dad,

I have arrived safely in England. I had a pleasant crossing and am feeling well. Of course I can’t say anything definite, but I am having an interesting time. England is very pretty and the people quite friendly. I’m busy now so I’ll have to close now. I’ll write again soon.


Love,
Bill

Letter 111- July 19, 1944

July 19, 1944
(Somewhere on East Coast)

Dear Mother and Dad,

The plot thickens. I’m somewhere on the East Coast. That’s the sum and substance of what I can tell you. It sounds like a mystery thriller doesn’t it, but it’s really necessary. I don’t know whether or not the envelope shows it, but this letter has been censored. If I have written anything wrong it will have been pointed out to me in no uncertain terms.

It’s not half bad here although most of these poor souls around this place don’t realize it. The food is excellent although we have to eat out of our mess gear. You’ll notice that I overwork the word although. That’s the trouble with the army, too many althoughs.

Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen; you may hear from me tomorrow or you may not hear from me for quite some time.

All the love in the world,

Bill


Pvt. Wm. W. Taylor, Jr.
19203811
C.E. Co. “M” A.P.O. #7946
℅ Postmaster New York, N.Y.

Letter 110- July 15, 1944

July 15, 1944
(Camp Reynolds, Pa.)

Dear Mother and Dad,

We’ve been alerted and within the next several days we will ship. I’ve received all new clothing including the new type field jackets, gas masks, inside-out shoes and so forth. Evidentially we’re to be a part of a Class “A” shipment which means—swish ! This I shouldn’t just say but it’s a pretty safe bet that we’re going to Europe since our issue is medium heavy—just about suited to English climate—but one can never tell.

You probably want to know why the urgent wire for 25 smackers. You may have guessed it. I and about half the fellows in the company were robbed of a total of about $500.00. There’s nothing lower in a military society than a thief due to small wages and inadequate means of protecting one’s property. Our first sergeant is going to have a shakedown arraigned, I think; and he says we may do with him what we please before they Court Martial him. In the 44th Inf. Div. they nailed a thief to a wall literally by his hands and feet (I’m not kidding). I think we’d be satisfied to merely break all his fingers. (this is fairly common.) He got over $27.00 from me as well as the wallet and my stamps. The only hope I have of catching up with the bast’d—is if he’s fool enough to use those Special Delivery stamps. I’m the only one in the Co. who uses them regularly. However I’m flat and with shipping and all I don’t know when I’ll be payed.

By tonight’s paper I see that the Japs are murdering our fliers again. God, I can’t understand why we feel so obliged to follow the International Law with the Japs. We might as well give them the guns with which to kill our boys. If it were up to me I’d give ‘em some really good doses of poison gas like their giving the Chinese, and second, I’d blow Tokyo—hospitals, Emperor’s Palace and all right off the map. To hell with this cricket stuff. I’d show them they’re only amateur rats compared to us. The same with the Germans who fight as long as they can kill us without endangering themselves, but give up when the going gets tough. I hardly call it a victory when a lot of Americans have to die while Germans live to raise another generation of “scum”.

Hope your cold is better, Mudder. I have a slight one but it’s pretty well sweated out of me.

I see the “Great Man” has with great reluctance decided to run again. That’s like me accepting $1,000,000 with great reluctance. I’ll close on that sour note.

Best Love
Bill

Letter 103- June 19, 1944

June 19, 1944
(Camp Reynolds, Pennsylvania)
Postcard

Dear Mother and Dad,

I’ve arrived in Camp Reynolds as of 8:00 P.M. last night—about 2 hours before dark—I had spent all day in Greenville, Pa.

“SNIFF SNIFF”

This camp’s not much of a place but God knows it’s better than Crowder. They treat us well but at best it’s still just another army camp, a hot one at that. I still don’t know much about what goes here, but I don’t think I’ll be here much over 3 weeks.

Best Love,

Bill

P.S. HAPPY FATHER’S DAY DAD

Letter 102- June 16, 1944

June 16, 1944
(Chicago Illinois)

Dear Mother and Dad,

I have a few hours here in Chicago so I thought it would be a good opportunity to write you [to] let you know that everything is O.K. So far the train ride has been awful. We’ve had seats all the way but it’s very crowded and the cars are so damned hot and filthy that it’s disgusting. We had a holdup at Omaha due to the floods and our train was 7 hours late into Chicago. We missed our connection with the Erie but we found that another train leaves tonight about 9:30 so we would have taken that one anyway.

Just after we heard about the new bombing of Tokyo I got a look at one of these new B-29’s. They’re really tremendous.
That’s about all.


Love,
Bill

Letter 79- March 11, 1944

March 11, 1944
(Camp Crowder, Missouri)

Dearest Mother and Dad,

I’ve been trying in vain for the last 3 days to telephone you to tell you I was on my way. I should have sent a telegram I know but it always seemed that I’d be able to get through at the next stop—Pocatello, Cheyenne, and Denver, and Kansas City; but it just never turned out right. Tomorrow is Sunday and I’ve got K.P. Nice start, huh? However, if I get half a chance I’ll call home. Really I’m trying hard but circumstances are working against me. I guess me and the Army way will just never get along.

Camp Crowder is really a beautiful place—big 2 story barracks, lawns, sidewalks. In other words Camp Crowder is everything that Camp Abbot isn’t. But! Camp Crowder is what is known by G.I.’s as chickens—t (crude, I know, but pointed). However, the climate is so mild and the camp so nice that no one really has a right to complain.

The Signal Corps is the biggest laugh in the army. The Engineers and Infantry here hold them in the most utter contempt. They are the real Boy Scouts of the Army. They complain to us if they take a five mile hike. They have an obstacle course that is a laugh. In fact, those guys have a lot of nerve even calling themselves soldiers and we let them know it. Sooner or later there’s going to be bloodshed. (they outnumber us about 50 to 1) but, even they realize that their training is a joke.

There are a number of Camp Abbot men here but only 8 of them I know. All in all I believe I’m going to like it here. Of course, anything looks good after Abbot. There are about 50,000 men here, a large Wac detachment as well as many Prisoners of War. Talking about the P.W’s I saw some of “them thar” Nazi “supermen” today for the first time. Har! Har! Har! Hawr! They must have swept the stables to get those birds.

We really had quite a time on board the train coming back here. We had Pullman’s, but R.R. service is so bad now that it’s a laugh. Once we couldn’t get on a train in spite of being under “traveling orders”—some stuff.

I’d sure like to see you again. Once in a while I get awfully blue. If at all possible send some pictures of yourselves.

Bestus Love, Bill

P.S Address may be revised but…
(new address here)

About Letter 2

Following induction at Ft. MacArthur Bill Taylor, Jr. takes a Southern Pacific train from Union Station in Los Angeles to Camp Abbot, located on the high plateau of Eastern Oregon. In a writing style that displays a keen eye of observation and a healthy dose of sarcasm, he notes "eating .15c Southern Pacific Railroad meals which happen to cost the army $1.00 apiece." After making a reference to the poem "Tommy" by Rudyard Kipling, he repeats a theme that will follow him throughout his military travels when he exclaims, "what a hole" in reference to his new home.