Life in the Air Base (Lt. Murchie, far right)

 

Somewhere in England

Sunday morning

[28 Mar. 1944]

Dear Folks,

Recently I visited in a little town by the name of Stowe [sic] in the county of Staffordshire (?), I believe.  It was quite English in the oldest English style—narrow streets that puddled off in various unaccountable directions, houses crowding the sidewalk half into the street—the pubs, tea shops and everything else that goes with a little country town in England are here and in a vastly different pattern from an American city or even small town.  It is interesting and likable—but somehow in the manner one might like a museum or summer cottage.  For the novelty or atmosphere perhaps—but as a steady diet—I’m afraid the blood is too thin—the pattern too set.

I might say here one or two things about our living conditions—just, that the food is superior to anything I’ve had in the army thus far and is far from what you’d expect—fresh eggs, canned milk, coffee, plenty of butter, sugar, oranges, and no end of good American food.  This morning we had hot cakes that were the best I have ever eaten—bar none—they melted like the butter on top of them.  Our quarters are very good and although I can’t say very much about them, I can say that I’ve had the first good hot shower in many a day and the rooms are steam heated.  Anything else would probably be of a military nature.

Before I write many more letters, I might say that if at any time any letters of mine come through with words or phrased censored our—please don’t bother or speculate—I shall try to say nothing that will necessitate that for in the first place I have to censor my own letters—but it may be that a man with more experience in this theatre, may see, in checking our mail, where a phrase or two is of military importance and to play safe he might delete it.

They weren’t fooling about this blackout—it is really dark outside at night—even starlight is bright on the main street of a town.  Add to the blackout the fact they drive on the opposite side of the street and you have a suggestion of the potentialities.

The money system is slowly unraveling itself although at first it was a riot to watch some of these poker games when a newcomer to Britain would fire in a pound and yell “Bet a buck!”

But it isn’t hard to begin to think in terms of “2 and 4” etc. and maybe in a month or two I’ll have it down pretty good.

Britain poses many problems—many new—some old; in her treatment of Americans—I’m to knew [sic] here to react as yet in one way or the other, but it is different here in a way than I had imagined.

I shall write again soon—till later,

Love,

Bill