About Letter 133

Bill finally gets his pass to London. He rides the "Underground" to Piccadilly Circus and upon getting off is "promptly drowned by the mob." Bill observes the colorful scene at Piccadilly Circus and then visits the American Red Cross to secure sleeping accommodations for the night.

Letter 133- October 17, 1944

October 17, 1944
(England)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I sure am sorry that I haven’t written to you for so long but everything’s been going so fast that I’ve just let everything go.

I’ve been to London, finally. I thought that I was never going to get that pass but I finally did. I am sure glad that I got to go. It’s the only place in England that’s really worthwhile seeing. I left here about 3:00 PM in the afternoon and arrived at Waterloo Station about dinner time. God I never saw such a mob in my entire life. I never saw so different uniforms in my life either. The station itself is no Grand Central but I can assure you there’s just as many people if not more. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible so I grabbed the “Underground”. Now that is something. It’s the most efficient, fastest, easiest thing in England. Everything is done by machine. You get your change, buy your ticket, ride the escalator, get on your train & zip you’re there. Actually it’s rather paradoxical that the English, who as a rule are so damn slow and who love to do everything the hard way, should have such an efficient transportation system.

Anyway, I got off at Piccadilly Circus to find the main American Red Cross Headquarters and was promptly drowned in the mob. Piccadilly Circus is the Times Square of London, you know. The whole place was packed with soldiers, sailors, M.P.’s, newsboys, peddlers, ordinary civilians, and prostitutes, I might add. Every time I took a step I could hear, “Hello soldier”, or “Got a match, soldier?” Londoners call them “Piccadilly Commandos” and the name is quite apropos. After I fought my way into the Red Cross I found out about getting a bed. They gave me a ticket and directions to one of the multitudes of A.R.C. clubs in London. My place was the Hans Cresent Club, just south of Knightsbridge in the main part of the City. There I got a fair meal and a good bed with sheets and a pillow. I didn’t go very far that evening but went to bed early. I’ll write more tomorrow.

Love,
Bill

About Letter 132

The rain is coming down in torrents and Bill's shoes are "filled with water to the ankles." He receives some letters that "must have come over by rowboat" taking over a month to get from Los Angeles to Bill in England.

Letter 132- October 11, 1944

October 11, 1944
(England)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

God, what a day this has been. From early this morning to late this evening the wind blew like a damned hurricane and the rain comes down in torrents. Five minutes after we fell out this morning I was sopped and that’s the way I remained all day long. Cold as an iceberg and wet as could be I felt like a “pore mizzable” drowned rat all day long. My shoes actually filled up with water to the ankles and my pants were soaked all the way to my –er-hips. If I didn’t have a damned good constitution I’d be dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of fellows won’t be sick tomorrow as it is. And you used to bawl me out for going out without a hat on. It’s really funny.

I’m beginning to get some of my back mail now. Some of it must have come over by rowboat. You sent me some of the letters over a month ago.

To top off a perfectly horrible day we’re having a perfectly beautiful evening. There’s not a cloud in the sky and the stars are shining like a million and one jewels. It’s brisk and breezy but not too much so. I just got back from a stroll and its right to make one sleepy. In fact I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open right now. That’s as good a cue as any for me to sign off. Bet you think this is a helluva letter. It is.



Best love,
Bill

About Letter 131

Bill inquires about the estate of his recently departed grandfather, Herbert Leroy Taylor. He is hoping to be the recipient of some historical family documents. He misses not getting news about the Presidential election campaign. Bill plans to put in for a pass to London.

Letter 131- October 8, 1944

October 8, 1944
(England)

Dear Mudder and Dad,
I finally received 2 letters from you. It was really a relief. Just to show you what the delay had been, these last letters were both marked #12. Before them the last letter I received was marked # 6. In other words somewhere there are 5 letters floating around. I know my change of address would have something to do with this but just think, all that time for a few letters to travel around in this little country.

I sure wish I was home to follow the campaign. I’ll bet it’s sure interesting. That clipping sure took a rap at the “great man.”

As I say in just about all my letters, there isn’t much to write. This evening I went to the show again. That’s about all a body can do. Soon I’m going to put in for my London pass. Can’t say just when though.

Have you heard any more about the estate Gramps left? I got to thinking about the family records that he always used to talk to me about when we were east. I wonder if they still exist and whether or not I could have them if they do. I’m the only one to whom they could mean much so I wish you’d write and see about them.

I “shure” hope those packages get through okay. Most of the fellows here seem to be getting them all right but just a little slower than regular mail. By the way, yesterday’s letters were postmarked the 28th. That wasn’t so bad.

Hope to get another letter tomorrow night.

Best love,
Bill

About Censorship

Once Bill was deployed to England his letters became subjected to military censorship. As we have seen, Bill was very aware that his letters were being censored. In several instances he makes small asides to the censor in his letters such as “cut here if you must”. The net result of the censorship of his letters is that they are less informative and specific about his movements and activities. Unfortunately this makes them less interesting to read. Bill tries hard, but he just doesn’t have as much to say.

The enlisted soldier was censored by an officer in his unit. It was considered an unimportant job and often someone like the chaplain or the dentist would get saddled with the job. If the enlisted man did not want his officer to read his mail -- if he had been giving him a hard time, let's say -- the soldier could use what was called a 'blue envelope.' The writer would certify that there is nothing in here that shouldn't be and the letter would go up to the next level where it might be looked at a little more kindly.

If the section they wanted out was very big, they would confiscate the letter. If it was small, they cut out the words or obliterate it with ink. If they had to use special chemicals to check for invisible writing -- something they did when they suspected a spy -- they would confiscate the letter because they didn't want people to know they were doing it.

The censors returned very few soldiers' letters. They confiscated them; they didn't send them back. They didn't necessarily give the word back to the soldier that his or her letter was withheld. It depended where it was stopped and how fast the troops were moving.
From the soldier's perspective, they often didn't know if it was going to get through. The soldiers were all given guidance on what they could say, so one would think they would know how to avoid getting their mail intercepted, but not all did.

An overly informative writer might be talked to, because it's important. We don’t know of any soldiers who were severely punished for what they wrote in a letter. It wasn't considered an overt act of sabotage; it was considered carelessness. Bill seems to be careful to follow the rules of censorship in his letters. It is unknown if any of his letters home were altered or confiscated.