Monday, August 14, 1944

It’s always a problem, sweetheart to know what to write here to be smuggled in when I get back, and what to send to you now as a letter. I want, of course to tell you as much as I can as soon as I can, but I don’t want to write pages of descriptions and have the censor tear them out. Of course some things, like telling you just where we are and what we’re loading I know I have to put in my personal account. And others such as the story of the shoes and slippers I know cannot be censored. But many events are so in between. For instance the boat drill we had Saturday. But let me tell you all about Saturday:

We’d been full loaded except for troops since about Wednesday, but apparently they didn’t need the dock space, so we just sat there. Saturday morning, however, we were awakened from our slumber at 8:30 to “stand by fore and aft.” Soon we were cast off, and slowly we made our way around a point of land to the harbour at Mers-El-Kebar just a couple of miles from Oran. Something like New York and Brooklyn. We finally were made fast there, gangplank and all about 10 minutes of 11. And promptly at 11 we had a fire and boat drill. First there’s the continuous ringing of the general alarm for not less than 10 seconds. With that we all race for our life-jackets and then to our fire station. Mine’s at the #2 Fire Main. We run the hose off its supports, turn on the water, and let it squirt over the side. As soon as all hoses are in action the skipper sounds the abandon ship signal–7 short and 1 long. We drop our hoses and race for our boat stations. Mine is to stand by the forward falls of number 4 lifeboat. Then, usually, a muster is taken and we’re dismissed, after securing our hoses.

However, Saturday our boat was lowered. They asked for volunteers–2 deck, 2 engine, and 4 navy to take it out. Bill and I were the suckers from the deck department. First we had to swing the boats out. At sea in war time they’re always carried out, but since we were in port they were swung in out of the way. Next they lowered it while Bill and I got in the boat and checked the automatic plug, etc. Hitting, at long last, the water we kicked loose the falls and held on to man ropes. At sea the others would come down the cargo nets but they’re a hell of a lot of work to roll back up, so we didn’t bother with them.

Finally we were all in the boat, so with the 2nd mate as coxswain we shoved off. And one thing us Sheepshead boys know is how to row. We shifted Bill into stroke position as the original stroke was making a mess of things. And I noticed Bill and I were the only ones to feather our oars. Of course in the harbour it didn’t matter, but in a rough sea that’s pretty important.

We rowed out a bit and then back. Fortunately they lead the falls to the winch so we didn’t have to pull the boat up by hand. And about 12:15 the boat was all secured again and we gratefully ate our chow.

That’s what a boat drill is. Now let me gripe a bit.

The purpose of a drill is to give practice in one’s duties. In the case of a fire and boat drill it is extremely important, since in an emergency a few seconds may be the difference between life and death. Also, a thorough knowledge of one’s duties is important because it’s very easy to lose one’s head, and the antidote is to know exactly what one is supposed to do.

Naturally at sea we can’t actually lower the boats. But we don’t even pretend to. We just assemble beside the boat while the mate musters us. Each person has a duty. But we get not the slightest practice in that duty. As a result there is no assurance that we even know what that duty is. The man who’s supposed to release the bridle and cargo net should be right by the pelican hood which releases them with a hammer or pipe or heel of his shoe to kick it loose. The men at the falls should release the pin which holds the reel of line and take the first couple of turns off the bit. The man who checks this plug should be in the boat doing it. And so on. If someone with a job doesn’t show up right away the mate should detail someone else to do it.

And this boat drill in port was just a farce. We were meeting a legal requirement and that was all. Two men of the 11 in the deck department went in the boat. And probably it will be the same 2 next time. 8 men of a total crew of 70-odd. There was no attempt at speed. Here’s my idea of how it should be done.

Preferably at anchor so that all 4 boats could be used, but if at a pier the two boats free should both take part. The boats should all be secured in sea position ahead of time. Then when the alarm sounded the entire ship should be abandoned in the shortest possible interval of time. Everyone should be in a lifeboat and they should race to get away from the ship. All right, so it would be a lot more work. So what? It would mean something. The one we had was almost a complete waste of time. If we’re not going to do it right, why do it at all?

To continue with the affairs of Saturday: I ate a hearty lunch, showered, and lay on my sack to read. Just as I was dozing off to sleep (I often “read” that way of an afternoon) the bosun came in and wanted me to work overtime loading army supplies. I didn’t feel quite so bad when I found out it came under the classification of stevedore work and paid $3.00 an hour. But we really worked! I told you about moving flour sacks the day before. Well, at least those sacks were whole. The first thing we did Saturday was to clear out half a dozen sacks of buggy flour. That is, there were half a dozen sacks and there was a lot flour, but the two were often of divergent minds regarding their course of action. Have you ever stood shin-deep in flour–ordinary white all-purpose flour–and moved it with a shovel? No, of course you haven’t. But I have.

However, the task was done eventually. Next job was the real work. A large truck load of boxes and bags of food had been lowered into the hold and we had to move it all to the proper storage room some hundred feet away. It wasn’t far, but it was awkward navigation. Each box weighed 50-60 pounds and they were countless. I don’t know how many trips I made. But I did make more than anyone else. My feeling was that if we were getting 3 bucks an hour we should exert ourselves for it. I knew better than to try and expound that theory to anyone else, but I did plug right along myself. It was kind of fun seeing how many times I could pass people. No one ever passed me.

But we were all glad that there were only a couple of boxes left as the chow bell rang. After a long leisurely meal in about 20 minutes the bosun and I went out on deck to straighten up the mess of the flour. It was just like cleaning your doorstep after a heavy snowstorm!

When I finally went to bed at midnight my overtime sheet would look something like this:

6:30-8:00 AM	1½ hours at	0.90 per hour equals	1.35	casting off mooring lines
			.90	penalty hour for breakfast
2:00-5:00 PM	3	3.00	9.00	loading army stores
5:15-6:15 PM	1	0.90	.90	cleaning deck
			.90	penalty hour for dinner
8 PM-midnight	4	0.90	3.60	watch in port Saturday afternoon
	9½		16.65	Total overtime
8 AM-noon	4 (regular watch)		11.00	Approximate daily pay in Mediterranean
	13½ hours worked Saturday		$27.65	Earned Saturday

Not bad for a mere Ordinary Seaman, eh? If I did the same every day I’d be rich.

Had an interesting experience the other day when in swimming. There were quite a bunch of us sunning ourselves on a rock and a few in the water. A few had suits, a few were in their underwear, but most of us were in the costume originally furnished us by nature. The sea was calm and cool and the sun was hot. It was very peaceful.

Then suddenly a French youth appeared to warn us that a couple of French Wacs were coming to enjoy the cooling effects of the Mediterranean and would we mind putting on our pants. Minding or not, we did. The extra effort and the loss of a portion of the sun’s rays would be more than compensated by a chance to observe again a woman in a bathing suit. We hoped they would be good looking. They were. There were two of them in their uniforms and they went down the beach a little ways. With her back turned one of them pulled her blouse off and disclosed a very shapely suntanned back. Well, we thought, this is going to prove interesting–all our eyes were as one as she commenced to wiggle out of her skirt. But alas. She did have a bathing suit underneath, and in our excitement we had not observed the thin strap around her neck holding up the front part. However, our disappointment was allayed by the bathing suits being brief and the figures very shapely. They were soon in the water and struck off from shore. It was now a nice problem of judgment as to when it would be safe to doff our pants and cool our fevered brows in the sea. And for one boy who had not scrambled out in time to come out and bask in the sun, the problem was fortunately solved by the girls swimming out of sight beyond a jutting rock. Not, of course, that I was interested, you understand!

The swimming hole is a good one all around. It’s right off a breakwater and you can dive in from about 5 feet or climb down some iron steps. The water is ideal temperature: refreshing but not too cold. And very clean. Depending on the wind whether it’s smooth or wavy. The above mentioned jutting rock is very interesting. It looks ages old (the whole country does, for that matter). All broken up with hollows and caves and tunnels–on a small scale, but interesting. I feel very primeval climbing up and down and around it with nothing on but a smile of contentment–especially when I’m on the far side and can see nothing but the sea and the sky stretching before me. Sometimes I think of you, Thea. Would you like to be with me there?

Another interesting thing there. Some of the fellows have constructed a large airtight goggle out of a rubber glove and a piece of glass. It fits over one’s head so that no water could get in your eyes. And it was truly beautiful looking down through the clear water. It felt just like flying to see the bottom so far below and yet so distinct. The rocks and the moss made interesting patterns and the sunlight made it truly magnificent. Of course, I still had to come up for air, but sometimes I almost forgot.

Time 12-4 AM 4-8 AM 8-12 AM 12-4 PM 4-8 PM 8-12 PM

12-4 on watch sleep sleep on watch miscellaneous free time

4-8 sleep on watch miscellaneous free time on watch sleep

8-12 sleep sleep on watch miscellaneous free time on watch

A definite written agreement should be available to everyone which shows just what he must do. A form should be provided for keeping track of “overtime”–i.e., all work done while not on watch. Some reward should be offered for overtime–possible the length of the graduation leave. Penalties for misconduct, etc., should take the form of overtime without credit.

Free time is a definite problem aboard ship. Some effort should be made to encourage the wise use of it. If possible numerous cultural classes should be offered on a voluntary basis, with overtime credit given for satisfactory work. Particularly such subjects as literature and art which can be enjoyed in solitude. Foreign languages would be very good. Armed Forces Institute courses should be available to Merchant Marine, and an introduction and explanation of them provided at this point. For those applying for special schools (and for others interested) math courses would be offered in this time.

Work week (or weeks) is probably necessary. As much as possible deck and engine men should have work similar to their departments, but since most of the work needed is in the mess hall it might be necessary to have them work there. This work would have to be done on a daily basis rather than by watches. And the work is a lot more than 8 hours a day. That’s all right–there are days like that aboard ship. But again, overtime should be computed.

Advanced training should go back on watches. Now I’m qualified to talk only about the deck department. The hour of each 4-hour watch should be spent on the steering trainer. The trainer should be operated 24 hours a day, each man being relieved at the wheel as on ship. That leaves six hours a day for classes. I’d suggest one hour each of rope work, life-boats, physical training, cargo or boom work, and 2 hours classroom relating to the deck work. If this kept up for 8 weeks men would be better prepared for sea than they are now. Somewhere should be included lookout training and painting. The latter should probably be overtime during the miscellaneous period.

Then would come a stretch on the training ship. This would depend upon shipping needs for its duration. Then back to Sheepshead until shipping out. This time, if any, could be employed in the stuff given now such as signaling, rules, etc. Some classes in these subjects could be offered in the free time period of the regular training for those who were interested.

So that weekends were still observed, the “ship” should be docked each Saturday morning and the men allowed to go on liberty when their Saturday morning watch was over and return for their Monday morning watch.

It would be a lot of work to plan out all of the details, and I don’t expect any part of it to ever be put in practice. But it would do a better job of preparing men for sea-duty in the Merchant Marine than the present system does. And, anyhow, thinking about it is a pleasant way to while away the time on watch.

Here is another quote on the subject of cigars. This one from Somerset Maughm: “There are few things better than a good Havana. When I was young and very poor and smoked a cigar only when somebody gave me one, I determined that if ever I had money I would smoke a cigar every day…. This is the only resolution of my youth that I have kept. It is the only ambition I have achieved that has never been embittered by disillusion…that keeps its savor to the very end. But when you have taken the last pull and put down the shapeless stump and watched the final cloud of smoke dwindle blue in the surrounding air it is impossible, if you have a sensitive nature, not to feel a certain melancholy at the thought of all the labor, the care and pains that have gone…the complicated organization that have been required, to provide you with half an hour’s delight. For this men have sweltered long years under tropical suns and ships have scoured the seven seas.”

Interesting thought–which applies to the enjoyment of any luxury. Or necessity too for that matter. Did you ever hear Holmes’ remark: “Give us the luxuries of life and we will dispense with its necessaries?” Which has a great deal of truth in it–at least to all of us who have never wanted for the necessities. I think that is the basis of it. We take the necessities so much for granted that our imaginations cannot grasp the loss of them. But luxuries come and go and thus are capable of being missed and desired.

I really need a 3-dimensional writing page. From each thought I think of several others, and as I can only follow one through at a time, my writing appears more jerky than my thinking. Conversation is the same way, only more so. In writing one person controls all the strings. It may be a hard choice, but at least it is his choice.

I remember once when I first ate dinner with Mother and Dad when they had company. I forget the topic of conversation, but I had some remark I thought pertinent. But before I could say it the conversation was on a different track. I leaned over to Mother and plaintively whispered to her to please bring it back.

See, there I go again. I meant to tell you, having drawn a quotation of his into my letter, that I’d read some more of Somerset Maughm’s short stories. And they stink. At his best, there is none better–with the possible exception of Sake. But Maughm is so rarely at his best. None of the 6 stories in First Person Singular is worth the paper it’s written on. My conclusion is as follows: I shall hurriedly pass over any books of his, but I shall turn avidly to any single story presented in a good anthology. Perhaps there should be a government agency which would read all stories and grade them, as they do meats. But then, taste in meats is so much more predictable than taste in books.

I read a pretty phrase in the Reader’s Digest a while back. A soldier writing home to his wife, “The watch you gave me is keeping perfect time. I am very annoyed with it. Doesn’t it know it should hasten over every moment until we are together again?”

For my watch, as for myself, time does not exist when you are far away. My watch is locked up in the captain’s safe until you can once more persuade it that time does pass by. And my heart is locked up also until you can persuade it that life is worth living again. I can live anywhere with my body and my mind, but my heart lives only in you. The Sanskrit proverb about yesterday being but a dream and tomorrow but a vision, “look well, therefore, to this day” does not take into account the separation of lovers for whom the present is but a pale distorted image and true reality is found only in the memories of the past and in the hopes of the future.

The pen, though mightier than the sword, is greatly inadequate to express the sentiments of the heart.

I’ve been on a writing spree. And about time, too. But I’ve finally found an almost ideal location. In the cab of one of the trucks on deck. It’s covered and so protected from the “heat of the midday sun” but the sides are open and a breeze (but not a wind) usually plays through it. I’ve discovered a way to prop my folder up on the steering wheel, and the net result is inferior only to an actual chair and desk. I shall be sorry when we unload them.

We have left the coast of Africa and are now sailing north. The time draws closer, but I’m not afraid.

A bit of fun at the wheel last night. There was a 40 degree turn scheduled for 10:30. When a turn is being made the commodore ship blows his whistle to indicate the fact. But last night he didn’t. About 10:35 we saw the commodore coming at us. Needless to say we made the turn in a hurry. The captain was saying numerous unprintable things about the commodore. The ship on the far side kept going straight ahead until after 11–when it was almost out of sight, it decided maybe it should turn also. But this morning all was serene. Each ship in its place and (I imagine) tempers cooled off a little.

Tuesday, August 22, 1944

Two more days and I’m still alive. And will continue to be so if events continue as they have. We had a couple of alerts each evening and I understand there was one Sunday night, although I slept right through it. But none of them amounted to anything. Just an unrecognized plane of our own or at worst a German reconnaissance plane. Sometimes we could see gun flashes over the hill–sometimes not.

Here’s the way an alert works. The shore batteries and warships in the harbour spot an unrecognized plane with radar and run up a flag or blinker signal. The navy lookout on our ship (and I imagine on the other ships in the harbour!) sees the signal and rings our general alarm–one long and a couple of shorts. Then those who have gun stations grab their life jackets and helmets and race to their guns, while the rest of [us] similarly equip ourselves and stand somewhere that’s outside but protected, ready to run to their fire or boat stations if it should become necessary. I usually stand in the companionway outside our focsle. We don’t all have helmets but there were a few on the ship. Bill and Les have some old ones from the last war–Bill looks something like Sergeant York. Mine is a modern one painted white with a red cross on top–to make me a better target I guess! I feel kind of silly with it on, but if something should land near by it might mean the difference between a sore head and a fractured skull, so I dutifully wear it.

I’ve changed a lot from the pacifist I was a couple of years ago. I still would have difficulty in taking a human life as such, but I can do a pretty good job forgetting the human element. Last night we saw a reconnaissance plane and could see the shore batteries firing at it, and my only feeling was of excitement and hoping they’d hit it. But though shots went all around it, it escaped unharmed. I was quite disappointed. Not just because it may have taken pictures that were valuable to the enemy, either. Our side was firing at it–and I was rooting for our side the same way I used to root for the Dodgers. Most perplexing–my own reaction, I mean.

I think it’s the distance that makes it so. If the plane were close enough to see the pilot it would be different. But when it’s so far away it’s just a target–and targets were made to be hit.

Well, enough battle news. Now for our unloading. Monday morning we piddled around. A barge came alongside but we didn’t have any slings. So it went away. We’d ordered slings from shore, but things were a bit confused and we didn’t seem to stand much chance of getting them. So we went to work and made a couple.

About 3:30 another barge came along and we started work. Or rather “they” did, since watches aren’t broken for O.S.s and they had enough men without me. By supper time they had a barge load of trucks, and after supper (I worked then, since it was overtime for everybody) we loaded two more. Then about 8 a bunch of army stevedores came aboard and took over. It’s now 8PM Tuesday and almost all the trucks are gone. I understand we’re going to move to another part of the beach to unload the rest of our cargo, so we’ll probably shift ship sometime at night.

We got an official citation from the army for turning to and unloading priority cargo before the labor battalion showed up. Not that we deserved it, since we got paid plenty for it and it wasn’t very hard work. But it still made me feel kind of good–although most of the crew said they’d rather have a glass of beer!

On gangway watch last night I was really kept busy. First I had to get out and plug in two cluster lights for each of the five holds. And then there were barges going and coming all night long whose lines had to be taken aboard or cast off. I really worked, for a change. It was 11:30 before I even had enough time to get a snack to eat.

Friday, August 25, 1944

I am again situated in a cool shady spot on the ship, but with the weather we’ve been having it’s hard to find. We can only mention the weather in general terms–but general or specific, it’s hot!

Remember that talk we had with Dad about honesty? And the justification of it as being something inside you–call it conscience or peace of mind or what-have-you. It really cleared my mind a great deal, and I have been a happier and more honest person since then.

There are very few persons aboard ship, however, who feel the same way I do. Almost every one, for instance, smuggled sheets ashore and sold them. I admit it was quite a temptation. It was very easy to do and they brought $5 in Italy and $15 a piece in Oran. Leaving the smuggling part of it aside (one can put up a fair argument in favor of smuggling on a small scale) it’s still out and out robbery to take ship’s sheets and sell them for one’s own profit.

And the other day I was really disgusted. We had several bags of soldiers’ equipment in our cargo containing clothes, gas masks, and emergency rations. Some of the crew got wind of it, and appropriated what they wanted. To me, robbery of the government, especially in war time is about as low as you can go. I hate to think of the money I put in war bonds going that way.

Some fellows took a whole bag, which was bad enough. But some just took out what they wanted and then put the bag back, which comes under the heading of sabotage, since those bags may go right to the front and be missing some vital article which is counted on.

It’s not as though they needed the stuff, either. There’s not a merchant-seaman aboard that will have a gross pay off of less than a thousand dollars by the time we get back–and while the Navy won’t realize as much they’ll none of them starve.

The thing is, those boys don’t consider it stealing. They consider it perfectly natural and justified to take anything they can get away with from the company or the government, but I doubt if there’s one of them that would open your locker and take your watch. Even Bill, who is one of the few who feel as I do says, “Wait until you go into business–you’ll lose some of your ideals.” I sure hope not. But it makes it pretty hard to be an idealist when all your friends feel so much differently about life. As I said I was plenty disgusted at the time, but there’s no percentage being disgusted with one’s shipmates. I have to live with them too long. C’est la vie!

Of course another thing that makes honesty difficult is the scarcity of good examples. I imagine most of the officers do the same sort of petty pilfering to pick up an extra hundred dollars. Some may do it on a large scale. It’s pretty common knowledge that the purser sent home several thousand dollars worth of money orders from Oran–and a purser doesn’t make an awful lot more than I do.

It’s a funny thing how people work. No one likes the purser. He’s very un-obliging and begrudges the 2 hours a week he has to spend opening the slop chest, although that’s about the only work he does all week at sea. He’s got a big belly and small legs and looks as though he’d sat on his rear end all his life. Anyone would be horrified if you suggested they were like the purser. And yet they use his actions as an excuse for their own transgressions!

I’ve been doing an incredible amount of reading recently. A great deal has been mysteries, which I won’t bother you with a list of. Except that I did read A.A. Milne’s The Red House Mystery which is very delightful. I think we have it at Roslyn, but I’m not sure.

Inspired by The Robe, (which I hope you’ve read by now) I jumped into the New Testament of the Bible. And I’m quite disappointed. The account of Jesus in The Robe moved me almost to tears, but the Bible itself is just words. It’s interesting only because it’s well known. Some sections, such as the Sermon on the Mount are beautiful, but even there much of my interest is a cynical comparison with present day morals. And it’s fun to compare the different gospels.

But most of it is so dry. The Old Testament concept of God playing with his (I refuse to capitalize!) puppets, demanding implicit faith and obedience, but being so all powerful that he can dispose of them with any rhyme or reason he cares to. Jesus seems so smug, in the Bible. I am the son of God and I know it and you’d better do as I say or you’ll be condemned to hell-fire. And then there’s a succession of miracles–just a bare account and about as interesting as a list of the officers in the Pelopensian Wars!

But Douglas does it so much more skillfully. And the amazing thing is he’s not telling a factual history. The miracles and the resurrection are all there and accepted as possible facts. But it’s all humanized. Jesus becomes an ordinary mortal with the spirit of God in him. He has a deep insight into the nature of things. But you still feel that, at least until the resurrection, he’s a human being and not a god. Even if you accept the miracles.

I think the difference is that The Robe is focused on a non-believer, while the Bible is put forth in a dogmatic believe-it-or-else fashion. Marcellus doesn’t want to believe these things. They are utterly foreign to his nature. And in the process of convincing him the dry account becomes alive. The miracles are no longer a dull list–they become things that happen to real characters–people you can feel you know. And not only the bare fact of the miracle, but its effect on the person–and on his friends.

Now don’t misunderstand me. I’m not trying to abolish the Bible in favor of this book of American fiction. If Douglas hadn’t had the event and quotations to draw from the Bible, his work could not have been nearly as beautiful nor convincing. But it’s almost like the difference between a calendar and a diary. Or between an angular skeleton and a beautifully rounded woman. (Like yourself, Thea).

Another good book is Antoine de St. Exupery’s Night Flight. If nothing else it is a beautiful piece of prose. The descriptions of both events and thoughts shows a masterful command of language–even after translation.

There is an interesting presentation of the purpose of life in it. The concept of duty as being the prime purpose. Just what this duty is or where it comes from isn’t clear. It seems to be the duty of man to conquer nature. The particular involved in conquering it by air, of course. But a simple story is put in to show the point:

A group of people are building a bridge which will short cut the distance to town. In the process of building it one of the builders is badly injured and his face mutilated for life. The question is, is there a single person involved who would not rather take the long way around than to suffer his neighbor’s face to be mutilated?

Put that simply it’s a hard question to answer. Immediately one would say it wasn’t worth it, but has not every construction had similar accidents? You can’t deny this bridge without denying all bridges–and all roads and houses and everything. I think the answer lies in alternatives. Instead of building the bridge what else might the man have been doing. Fundamentally he might have been sitting home on his rear, or out doing something else equally as dangerous as the bridge. Disregarding the obvious fact that if everyone had sat home on his rear since the beginning of civilization (and I think that fact can be disregarded; the problem is one of the present and future–not of the past; if we decide at any time that we have gone far enough in material gains we have that right) there would at present be no civilization, I don’t believe that man can individually be happy doing nothing with his body. However, I do not agree that individually man should feel a sense of duty to do those things. Each man should choose for himself the extent to which he wishes to gamble his life for the advancement of mankind.

In fact, to my mind, the material aspect of mankind is already advanced far beyond its other aspects. I don’t like the word “duty,” but I do sort of feel that everyone should try to make this world a little better place to live in. But “better” can be interpreted in many different ways. The great need is not for bigger bridges and aeroplanes but for a more satisfactory method of living together. In trying to bring that about a man may not risk his life to any appreciable extent, but–rather I should say he need not risk his death; his life may be risked, if you see my point.

The third literary selection in today’s program is The Ox-Bow Incident by Walter T. Clark. It was laying around the foclse for a long time and I let it lay, because from its blurbs it looked like a better-than-average western–and I don’t go for westerns. But it’s far more than that. It’s the story of a lynching. And more, the story of men’s reactions to the lynching, before, during, and after.

The entire story takes place within a day and a half. From the suspect crime to the eventual discovery of the victim’s innocence. The characters are very skillfully done. The Reverend Osgood and the fat, pompous Judge Tyler, whose arguments on behalf of moderation are so much fuel for excess, because of the ineffectiveness of the arguers. The colored man Sparks, is very sympathetic and well done–far different from Bones in The Kansan. Davies–whom I would consider the main character–his perception of justice and his mixture of strength and weakness. Tetley and his son–the father a typical well-to-do, hard Westerner, and his son a horrible misfit in the tough society of Nevada in 1870. Art, the narrator, typical of the mob–sensing that it isn’t right, but not having the courage to ally himself with the other side. It’s a story well worth reading. My life hasn’t been all reading. There’s always things to do aboard ship. But so much of it I don’t know if I can write about. And I don’t want, anymore than necessary, to write whole pages and have the censor leave them out. I’ll have a better idea next trip of what I can tell you and what I can’t.

Tuesday, August 29, 1944

Well, we’re almost back to Oran and I’m still alive. In fact our invasion was most tame. The nearest thing to action was the reconnaissance plane mentioned before–and after that we didn’t even have an alert. Most disappointing, thank goodness. We pull into Oran again sometime tomorrow. After that…? We’ll probably reload and go back to Toulon or Marseilles, but there’s always the hope that we’ll head back to U.S.

We have a couple of casualties aboard, however. Tex has a bad cold or bronchitis or something. Which means that Les and I have to do a bit more work on our watch. Not but what we’re glad to do it. Tex stood almost the whole watch for both of us one night when we were under the weather.

The bosun is worse off. He fell against a winch last week and broke one of his ribs. So he is flat on his back for some time to come. We’re all helping to look after him. He’ll go to the hospital at Oran, of course, but hopes to be able to rejoin the ship. We had a doctor aboard from one of the destroyers yesterday to look at him.

Alone, alone, so very much alone
A sailor on his watch throughout the night:
The moon on high–a crescent soon to fade–
The stars, these little twinkling points of light;
Black shapes, denoting other lonely ship,
The day, the sea–all things he’s never known;
All things eternal–nothing in this life–
That’s why the sailor is alone, alone.

Have you ever read The Way of All Flesh by Samuel Butler? I’ve just started it, and find it thoroughly delightful. There are no belly-laughs in it, but almost every page is worth a chuckle or two in its delicate satire:

“To parents who wish to lead a quiet life I would say: Tell your children that they are very naughty–much naughtier than most children. Point to the young people of some acquaintances as models of perfection and impress your own children with a deep sense of their own inferiority. You carry so many more guns than they do that they cannot fight you. This is called moral influence and will enable you to bounce them as much as you please…” And so on. And that’s just a sample. It’s available in Pocket Book and would be a worthy addition to our library, I believe.

My pen doesn’t seem to flow as fluently today. And it’s not because I am unhappy. I’ve been thinking a lot about you and how wonderful it will be when I get home again. And that makes me happy. But somehow I can’t find words to put that feeling down on paper, and my mind is too full of it to write about anything else. Perhaps I shall be more inspired later on. Until then, I love you very dearly–