Tuesday, April 3, 1945

Visited about 16 wards today. Delivered papers, toothpaste, ditty bags - talked, talked. Jack called me but I was unavailable, so he'll call tomorrow. I am as sure of Jack as I am of the sunrise. He loves the idea of "Mrs. Strong." It scares and beckons me. But I may.

I asked Lt. Larson when Jimmie was coming back if at all. He said the show opens the 16th, and he'll be back then. Thank God the bombs have just about gone since Holland is evacuated of Germans. He's in the greatest dither of his life - rehearsals! He's probably running the whole show. Curious how I adore that boy - he's the sun and the moon - and he's forgotten about me, almost. That's because he's so tremendous a person, things absorb and take possession, whatever it is at the time. Nice to know that, but hard on people who love him so much.

My Beloved Ginger

2 April 45

Nine o'clock

My Beloved Ginger -

I am at the same table at which we had our tea, and it is the heady smell of your perfume that is filling my head with fantasy and my heart with the peaceful hurt of wanting you. Always, I know it will be there when you are from me.

After leaving you I immediately inquired the time of the next train and found that it would not leave until 19.23 hours so I found my way into a below-stairs restaurant and inveigled them (there being no other potential customers about) into giving me a glass of ale, no spirits being available. It was a large place with lots of the old woodwork and supported by eight-sided and square columns having quite beautiful tiled panels half-way from the floor, and mirrored panels from that point to the ceiling. The square columns had little brass-railed shelves. The ceiling was of long arc-ish sections, quite grimy. A semi-Continental waiter, of Welsh or Scottish origin presided. It did not at all fit my mood, however, so I moved on until I arrived at a hotel that seemed to catch the eye of others of the passing dog-faced throng, but my peripheral noted that most of them were emerging almost immediately upon entry and for the most part, bewilderment was quite evident dans le visage. So I spake unto myself, saying, This must be the place I am looking for!!! And, ma petite cochon, it was!! Truly a place of ours, it was, with its lofty ceils and just-sufficient light, soft talk and softer appointments, a place of romance tempered ever so Britishly with the ageless dignity of middle-aged stewards who lead you to believe that they have been in your personal service for years past. We shall enjoy that another time, my sweet.

So, bowing over my table, the grey hair and tails enquired, "Have you been served, Sir?" knowing full well that I had not.

No - said I - but I should like a double scotch.

Terribly sorry, Sir - said Tails - but we are quite sold out of spirits.

What a shame - I mourned - for I desired to drink to a lady and to our meeting in the future.

Is that so, Sir - Tails sympathized, and then inspired - Will you be so good, Sir, to remain here for a moment?

He glided from sight to reappear almost at once, bearing upon his silver tray the small glass of amber stuff, and a tumbler of water.

Double, was it, Sir - he almost beamed - Two and nine - he said.

I was very pleased and chuckling inside as I placed five shillings on the tray. He reached for change and I said - That's all right.

Thank you, Sir - said Tails.

3 April 1500

It is now tomorrow and your perfume lingers on me. It's a trap, a snare. I'm hooked.

Having just read what I wrote last eve I find that I have become a master of ambiguosity, but that I don't worry about - you will know what I am saying. Perhaps, too, I will learn to write legibly again. That does bother me.

You know I miss you, Ginger, so I will not reiterate.

I am going to try to call you now, so be there 'cause I am working from four-thirty till midnight.

See you later, darling.

Jack

Monday, April 2, 1945

Was called in time for breakfast - a vague spam-y meal with cruel coffee. Got a train to Lichfield, and with the help of the M.P. and the Field Director of Camp, let Jack know he was to meet me at the Red Cross at the Depot where I got a ride on an army truck. A beautiful day, and the fields and orchards lovely. The Red Cross was helpful and cheery, and Jack got a pass. I waited an hour for him - he had difficulties with his sergeant, but as usual surmounted them. He looked so sweet to me somehow, he was so glad to be with me again. We held hands in the Red Cross library over sandwiches and he had no appetite. This army is hell on men like him. Said he's even considered going psycho so we could be civilian again. I flattened that, although I'm terribly trapped in the army, too. We could have such fun. We had a compartment to ourselves to Birmingham, very sweet. Had fish and chips, and parted rather seriously.

Sunday, April 1, 1945

Wrote more letters for new patients - delivered special requests. Talked to Bria and wanted to tell him he was going home, but was not allowed to. He wants to tell his wife "all about me".

Talked to Underwood, another P.N. patient - have to be careful with these young men, they get attachments. He'd been reading Maughm's "The Razor's Edge" - intelligent reaction. I told him to keep on reading everything, that he'd never have time enough in his life to get it all read. He's changed here - he's better.

Took a bus to Cheltenham and entrained for Birmingham. Got a hotel room by chance and was not able to call Jack at the Depot 14 miles distant. Had coffee and the eternal cheese sandwiches in the lounge - went to bed after finishing a letter to Jack which I'll give him. Mail is so slow and he's not had a letter from me yet!

Saturday, March 31, 1945

Wrote letters this AM for three patients. They are invariably "improving every day...don't worry...nothing serious". This, when they are paralyzed from the waist down - or deafened - or almost blind, or shattered of arm or leg. You find this the most gallant aspect of the war in a hospital. Celebrated our 10,000th patient with a special radio program. I was not on it - Soph spoke for the ARC. I wrote a speech for her, which she liked, but army-like, they couldn't use it. Patient's name was Robert Henderson.

Jack called about 8 from the Reinforcement Depot near Birmingham. Had been on guard and very tired - missed me too much. Told me to come on up and find him Monday. Made candy, colored fondant - fancy for our Easter open house. Did not go to the Club dance.

Friday, March 30, 1945

A tiring day, but one wherein you feel you've accomplished something. Took some flowers to Bria for Good Friday. Delivered odd items - took yarn for teddy bears - wrote a radio program on Home Town News - gave out five cakes, one huge one, and served it. The volunteers brought lovely hyacinths, and daffodils, and eggs for us. Package came from Mabel with a watermelon pink sweater, lipstick, perfume, and carnation soap. All reminds me of the Maywood Apartments. How much more contented I am over here, but every day I have the burden of anxiety over J. in London. One of the nurses said tonight that 100 people were buried in a tube station in London recently. Jack and I heard several explosions while we were there, and we heard one here tonight while at mess which could only be a bomb. I'd give anything to have him safe back here, though I suppose he would die of frustration after London. Jack did not call from the Center - but he will tomorrow probably. Hope he stays in England, he's such a comfort.

Thursday, March 29, 1945

Spent the day writing letters on wards. - saw Capt. Eschelbacher do a skin grafting job, minor operation he invited me to watch. The boy was smiling and non-chalant. Capt. E is a remarkably fine, sweet person - the only doctor I really like personally. I can always depend on him to be around to talk to at my infrequent Club visits. His patients rely utterly on him.

Jack called from the 10th Reinforcement Pool at 8.40 - said he was going to ask for a pass to come back, the idiot. Travel is restricted until next week so we may not get together, though I'll try to go to Birmingham Sunday night if he's able to meet me. I told him I missed him so I wanted to resign and follow his camp - it's all right with him! He said he was in the Birmingham RR station, and when he heard my voice he started to breathe with considerable difficulty...how wonderful to affect a cool, self-sufficient man like that! Wonder if it will last. I wrote him a letter that will please him. I laughed through half the conversation as usual. What a guy!

Wednesday, March 28, 1945

Wrote letters for Godalchek (paralyzed arm and cast on the other)and for Thibido who's blind - shrapnel entered right eye destroying it leaving nerve gone - is easy and cheerful. Very young, easy to talk to - tried to make him promise not to touch his face and bandage. He must have handcraft.

Took seven birthday cakes, fun as usual. Some boys in my psycho-neurotic ward got hold of liquor last night and came back and tore the ward apart. Got sent to the closed ward. They frightened Bria and Evans, poor things. I played Ave Maria for Bria today on the program - he told me later he heard it. Slept this PM - at least he was quiet. Told me later so haltingly, "You are so kind...thank you...for...everything". Underwood is definitely coming out of his dark blue moods.

Met Jack for dinner - we had a wonderful time as always. He is the kindest, finest person. Wants so much to marry me. Maybe I shall.

(pictured: Jack C. Strong)

Tuesday, March 27, 1945

Back at 9,30 - saw Bria after his cousin came in the office, so good to have him know me, and thank me in whispers for what we had done. He's better, "I must get better" he said. Talked to new patients - tiring, but good and satisfactory. Went to Capt. Hagen's birthday party at the Club. Capt. E's birthday so we had a drink and he reported on home news. Good man.

Lots of good mail - Maria, John, John Keates, Vito, home - Violet Morgan, Mabel, good letter from Durham last week.

Bria recognized my voice on the radio - progress!

(How is my beloved? Will he come back this weekend to open his Christmas boxes? He's now casting director for Special Services. Jack is coming tomorrow - reports for duty Thursday.)

Monday, March 26, 1945

Met Jack at 10 at the Savoy where we had a luxurious corner overlooking Hyde Park. We were so pleased with each other and the view that we could hardly nibble our toast. Went out then and found a fine basement bar where we drank gin all the afternoon and Jack planned our married life. It is rather dangerous fun I suppose. He's perfectly serious - is so sure of us. Somebody told us to go to Gretna Green in Scotland and get married. Fortunately we had tea and sobered a little. Looked for hotel rooms from a cab to no avail - then I went to the hotel where I have been before...buried my heart...we got rooms on the same floor - very nice. I went to dinner at the Berkeley with Jno. Green. Came back and found a note on my pillow, "I love you". We got an early train - Jack very sweet to me - he left me at Swindon.

Sunday, March 25, 1945

Very busy day - called on a lot of wards - took home town papers which is always fun. Sally White visited the wards with me - her first experience. Saw Bria and told him his cousin may come to see him. Took him some comfort articles - treat him like a child, he is so tired and in pain, but he brightens a little and says "Vir -gin-ia". Makes my heart ache, and also swell with maternal solicitude. See progress there.

Jimmie called - gave me a number - very busy. Jack got on the train in Swindon - happy as a drunk. We got to London in no time and went to the Red Cross where he billeted. I got one at 10 Charles and we sat and talked 2-1/2 hours. Told some G.I. we were married - that's how he "rated" me. He's crazy and wonderful to know. A bomb went off at 11.30 - I trembled for Jimmie whom I couldn't reach by phone. It was the church near the Scala Theatre. Another bomb went in half an hour. An alert at 2.30 - Jack had to leave me then.

Saturday, March 24, 1945

Jack arrived after the radio program. Very amusing to see him admitting his state of mind about me. He was always independent - women have never bothered him - even the one he once married. We had a jolly reunion with cafe royales in the office in the evening. He's so much in love he's crazier than ever. We howl with laughter over it - went to a pub and got mixed up with G.I.s - such fun with him. Everybody gathers around...a man's man, a good soldier. Then we went walking in the moonlight and found a farm yard to pause in. Home late and coffee in the mess. Jack wondered if he should take me over his shoulder coming in the gate...I merely wondered if I should walk in with him as he is an "enlisted man". I like that guy, I'm nuts about him!

Found my battle fatigue case - Charles Bria. Was able to get him to talk. Satisfying. He repeated my name - "Vir-gin-ia".

Friday, March 23, 1945

Got up at 4.15 AM to great new patients - 66 - some psycho-neurotics. Most of the men smile and acknowledge your greeting and accept cigarettes and gum. Some are too tired. I was so struck with one face - tortured, painful, unseeing - that I asked Capt. Eschelbecher to find out which ward he was sent to. Will follow up the case.

Jack called again - misses me - coming tomorrow. Good to see him. ARC entertainers on the radio, tiring to take them to the wards, but gratifying when the boys liked them.

Thursday, March 22, 1945

Worked on my psycho-neurotic patient today - the artist - Underwood. He got a haircut to please me and looks better. He's one of those unhappy lost souls, they attach themselves to you - and why not? I personally cut his fingernails, and gave him some nice soap and talcum. He was pleased - has a remarkable talent for illustrating his pain. Several new artists in #22 - Jack's old ward. One is fine. I had coffee tonight and showed the other one his work. Missed Jack.

On the radio talked about Oxford and Phyllis played the accordion. Jack left this AM after we got back at 9.30 - carrying a very heavy barracks bag - he's visiting friends in Swindon. Called me tonight, misses me terribly, "Did I tell you I love you? I love you!". This I have heard from a different voice in the last month. Jimmie hasn't called this week. Jack is sincere, serious. I have a heartache so big and frightening that I simply have to close my mind. Jack has probably saved me from idiocy.

Wednesday, March 21, 1945

Jack came to the door at 9.30 am while I was in robe and PJs - all ready to go with me to Oxford! I flew around, got ready and met him on the square downtown. We had coffee and began our hiking to Oxford 39 miles away. Stopped at three pubs, rode on trucks, all English rides. Arrived at Lechlade, about 1/3 of the way, and took the train. We barely caught it - such fun. We found rooms at the ARC in Oxford - ran across Willard Fairchild in the officers' lounge, and we three walked around the colleges - saw Exeter - Jesus - New - Lincoln - the silence and tranquility of those quadrangles with their ancient turf is beyond telling. Jack and I adored the houses and apartments on the adjacent streets. They all have bright brass door knockers, and are clean and inviting. We had rum at the Mitre bar - and were very merry. Dinner there - took a 5 o'clock train home. We were alone in a dark carriage - delightful business. Jack is in love with me.

Tuesday, March 20, 1945

Drinking my 8th cup of coffee now at 11.00 and planing to catch a ride to Oxford in the AM - hope Jack can get away to go with me. He leaves here tomorrow - 7 day furlough, then a replacement pool ( hated words), then limited service. He has enough shrapnel here and there to keep him out of active combat again. Good man - wounded four days in a row before they got him down as he was applying a tourniquet to a pal. A third man was killed nearby. Was offered a field commission, but his C.O. was wounded at the same time. His account of intrigue in Montevideo is the funniest thing I ever heard. What a good friend - or companion. Or is it even better than that?

(pictured: Sgt. Jack C. Strong)

Monday, March 19, 1945

Again felt the dreadful doubt that Jimmie would come, but it was grand to think about all day. I felt like going to bed in the PM, and Dusty suggested it, so I came to the hut and took a nap. Sure enough at 5.30, Corp. Kingdom came over and said Jimmie was staying in London. Why all this should make me sick, I can't tell. I want him to stay, but the sight of him is so dear to me that it is pure, simple pain to know I won't see him - nor do I believe he has not changed. He doesn't need me now - incredible. Everything I have ever wanted to hear a man say to me Jimmie has said - except one, and that is impossible. Now silence, when even one day's separation used to be intolerable for him. Do people change so quickly? Even Kingdom said, "He plays terrifically, of course he's terrific in other ways!".

God help me, they bombed Marble Arch, and broke the Cumberland windows.

Sunday, March 18, 1945

AM - Played a record to surprise Barney - his wife, Kitty Kallen, singing "I Walk Alone" with Harry James' Orchestra.

Waited for Jimmie - then realized no trains from London till 8.30 - gave up. Jack dashed off suddenly for the weekend to get drunk, I know why. I heard on the radio he was back so I looked him up in Ward 22 and had coffee. He was still mellow - said "You always look lovely to me" - shall miss him, we can talk in this lonely war. I sought out Jack in my misery and stayed while he put on the ward request program. Then we had coffee. He hates to leave me. I shall be lonlier than ever. What an ironic, bitter world. He goes Wednesday.

Served tea to Col. Davenport and Olive (his fiancee) and her cousin, Sally. Sally is a darling girl - the nicest I've met here. She likes Saki, too. Col. Millman was there. How can I help worrying about Jimmie? But I'd go back anytime to be with him. Only it's gone, I know. That wonderful, terrible newness of love and a new world and life, suddenly the way it should be.

(pictured: Sally White from Birmingham)

Sunday, March 18, 1945

Waited for Jimmie - then realized no trains from London till 8.30 - gave up. Jack dashed off suddenly for the wekend to get drunk. I know why. I heard on the radio he was back, so I looked him up in Ward 22 and had coffee. He was still mellow - said "You always look lovely to me" - shall miss him, we can talk to each other in this lonely war.



Served tea to Col. Davenport, Olive (his fiancee), and Sally, her cousin. Sally is a darling girl - the nicest I've met here. She likes Saki, too.

(pictured: Sally White from Birmingham)

Saturday, March 17, 1945

Gave two Bingo parties in wards - orthopedic boys very responsive - you always want them to win! Went to another ward in the evening where I was the guest of honor at a spread - first ward called me back to say their coffee was ready. The boys are so sweet, sometimes your heart aches. They love having a woman bobbing around - emptying their ash trays - also gives them a chance to be gallant.

Went to the club and Fairchild the artist was back for the weekend. Capt. Eschelbacher gave me a pack of Benson & Hedges.

Jimmie called from London at 2.30 this PM - says he'll be here tomorrow - in a foul mood and a hangover - must speak to him about calling me at such times.

(pictured: Sketch of Virginia Cooley, England 1945, by Willard Fairchild)

Friday, March 16, 1945

Phyllis made pancakes for breakfast!!! Woke up feeling too low to speak to anybody. No reason - just awful foreboding that Jimmie wouldn't come. As the day wore on, I felt better, wondering what train the boys would take. Had a good radio show with Jack - delivered four green and white birthday cakes. Showed Mrs. Murray some fascinating drawings of one patient's - surrealistic, powerful, medically inspired things, and she devoted the PM to him. It's times like that in which I feel occasionally useful. Visited with the boys - then heard the saddening news, Jimmie has a 30 day extension on D.S. and won't be here on Monday when the others come. If he calls I'll feel better, and I want him to be in London if he wants to. I can see him there - if he wants to. It's wonderful for him to stay there, and I hope they keep him so he can do his "3 jobs": movies, shows, and band. But I am miserable not seeing him. Jack says he is going to devote all his time to raising my spirits.

Thursday, March 15, 1945

Felt unaccountably light-hearted today. No, that's wrong, good reason: Jimmie is supposed to report back here tomorrow. Rumor is he will stay in London - I want him to - tho every day is long and restless without him. Must get out of here if he goes back.

Taught one of the boys to dance tonight. Jack Strong came up to the library for me and we went to Ward 22 as usual for coffee. Harold Garner, the colored chap there used to sing with the St. Louis Municipal Opera, and now has a head injury which prevents him from getting any chest tones through his throat. Wonderful fellow, adores Jack. He's very smooth and witty, and in a cast from waist down. Fed a patient his supper tonight, arm amputated, other in a cast.

Jack and I went on the air today together - I wrote the best script I've done. Tonight somebody dedicated a song on the air to me - "Sophisticated Lady".

Wednesday, March 14, 1945

Went to the Murray's for dinner - Jack Strong was invited and we had a lovely respite from the hospital. Manhattans, good food, talk. Jack said he relaxed for the first time in a year. Nice fellow - he saves me from going mad with ennui here. He's more bored than I, if possible, having a vagabond nature, and having drifted over most of the USA on all sorts of jobs from wireman to newscaster.

Tony Ronnikers was at the Murray's - the most charming Englishman I've met here - strictly from a Lonsdale play. Mad about New York - Tony's wife is our colonel's friend, heh heh.

Tuesday, March 13, 1945

Back to work with about 4 hours sleep feeling marvelous all day. Jimmie always makes me feel that way. I suppose partly because he is so alive, and partly because of the plain, honest content of being with him. No, not content - active leaping happiness - I feel so tenderly toward him - and so close. A queer elation that frightens me because I know it can never happen again to me - and that I'll have to live without it - and I'm not even sure I want to. Then too, I wonder if Jimmie doesn't make other people feel the same way - that's a chilling thought, but one worth taking seriously. It's the first time in my life I have still not been lonely with another. It's the most perfect thing in my experience. But I'm afraid not for long -

Monday, March 12, 1945

Went to little Audrey Pewell at Selfridges and she was delighted as usual to do my hair. Took her a PX lipstick. She's a lovely child - under 17, mature, sensible - has dimples at the tops of her cheeks. Wants to marry an American, of course. Called John Green at BBC and made a tea date at the Berkeley. Went to the Savoy for a Scotch - it's lovely and simple in the American Bar, perfect taste, modern. It was lunch time, just a few in the bar. Wrote Johnny a letter from the Savoy. Went to lunch at a Turkish restaurant and ate great food (Soho). John Green took me to the Conservative Club on St. James St. for tea. We plan to go to Cambridge in a couple of weeks. No call from Jimmie until 9 when I was very worried. Joyous at seeing him, but he was terribly down because Geo. Pottsford, the timesmith, had thieved his new time in the Special Service Show. We went to our little Court Club and got mildly high on Scotches and back to the hotel. As evr and always we were divinely happy, and he threw a kiss through the window of the train at 5.30 AM. Jimmie is the "voice" on a documentary war film Garson Kanin is making also. Wanted a "tense voice" - he got it!

Sunday, March 11, 1945

Jimmie called about 3 - said all sorts of things had happened - the "most remarkable week of his life in some ways". I was cheery, and happy to say I'd have dinner with him Monday eve. My gawd, how wonderful to hear that voice!

Capt Baker called from London - wants me to call him tomorrow. He wants a pair of stockings for his wife, so I told him to get me the Scotch, and I'd get the hose.

Took the 6:35 to London and hoped Jimmie would meet me but he couldn't. Talked all the way to an RAF Police Inspector in Hawkshaw clothes. He divided his ham sandwiches with me - knew all about Gloucestershire - told me about the flower called "flitterary", a bluebell which blooms only in one village near here.

I was given a room at Red Cross, 103 Park. Light supper by a cheery little maid - coke to take to bed! Alma Klingas from the 53rd General was there - hadn't seen her since we landed.

Saturday, March 10, 1945

Ward entertainers and hauling the piano. Memories of how I first hauled our big piano to the broadcast so Jimmie could play - how I introduced him - how he apologized for interrupting me on the air - how gorgeous his music sounded when I went into the next room and listened to it coming out as the wards heard it. How I, never thinking he was more than 22 or 23, rushed to him later and kissed him impulsively, saying "Jimmie, you were beautiful!!". How he didn't change expression, but later laughed at me and told me he is 30, an old man. I was abashed (but I'd do it again).

No call this AM, he has a mild lacing coming up. Dance at the club - refused to dance, talked to Capt Eschelbacher. Great bore...no call.

Friday, March 9, 1945

No mail - nothing to break the monotony. Soph still at the 111th Hospital recuperating.

Thursday, March 8, 1945

(pages for January 25-March 7 have been removed)
Another long day, and the question of how long you can live on memories and future visions without becoming a nuisance to your associates. I am lost - I should be in London. No one to talk to here except Jack Strong - I have coffee with him in Ward 22 nights. He likes me because I am "in the Screwball Division".

Sunday, February 25, 1945

Jimmie called at 11:30 and said he slept late, the baby - I was glad. I told him that my train would be in around noon Monday and to call me at the Mostyn Red Cross Club. He said he couldn't even bear to drink withour me - had had two ales. The picture progressing nicely.

Thirty years later, Minneapolis, Minnesota - We met in front of the Mostyn Club by accident and went to a shabby little hotel that did a big favor for Americans and their gals by not asking for papers of any kind. We found a room being vacated by a cheerful party, all of whom had hangovers and wished us a good time. It was the first time we had ever been really alone. It was a transcendent experience! We spent most of the time just feasting our eyes and saying, "Are you really here? Is this true? Am I dreaming?" He bought me primroses, and later a bottle of Je Reviens cologne. I now - all these years later - have the same kind of scent - hard to buy in London then. We found a small club off Oxford St., the Court Club, paid our pound for membership, and after a few gins Jimmie took over the piano, to everyone's pleasure. "Home" together, and breakfast in the morning. The business of passing cold toast and orange marmalade was a religious rite - our parting was terrible. And we were never to be together again like that, not for breakfast.

Saturday, February 24, 1945

Had British Night at the club and was nice to three Flying Officers - pleasant, but certainly missed Jimmie's divine fingers on the piano - I'm lost without him.

Friday, February 23, 1945

Jimmie called about 4 o'clock - said he didn't know it was possible to miss anyone so much. Told me he'd call Sunday AM and we'd plan for Monday in London. The time was interminable - I was so used to seeing him every day, but I feel big events are in store for him in the studio - and with the band in London. This is no place for him. But the Colonel wants to keep him.


He said the letter I wrote him en route from Stratford was the most wonderful thing that ever came from a fountain pen! He read it over and over.

Thursday February 22, 1945

(pages for February 9-21 are blank or removed)
Walked alone across the pasture and through the village to Anne Hathaway's Cottage - found it intact, perfect, and utterly incredible. It looked so uncomfortable for a love affair in 1500 or 1600. When was it? The gardeners were sowing and pruning "under an English Heaven". I wished for Jimmie so much. Caught a train after visiting a hand-loom weaver's, and buying a scarf, and a tie for Jimmie. All the way home in the train I wrote him a letter - how I felt, how I missed him.

Arrived at 5:00 in town - called him - was told by Kingdom that they were all leaving for three weeks in the AM! Back to London. I saw him at 7:00 and we were so happy to be together - it was troubling to separate - gave him some supplies to take - promised to see him Monday. Gave him my letter to read later.

Thursday, February 8, 1945

Spent the day in the building polishing my Red Cross manners - the boys were fun in the PM hanging around the desk while I cut felt patterns. Looked up to see Capt Baker striding in, in his beret and burberry - awfully, awf''ly British - cherub face, cute smile, and sort of threatening attitude! He's going to get a bottle of Scotch for me - he will, too. Most amusing fellow. He's inherited two businesses, quite well-heeled, I'm sure. Friendly and warm, like a great puppy. The Americans like him.

Went to Ward 40 at 4:30 and found it in an uproar making felt animals. Went back at night and took them cards, newspapers, books, stationery, checkers - they're like children in an orphanage - noisy. Now, Ward 49 was quieter, more polite, and Ward 50 was more quiet and sweet.

Met Jimmie at 8:00 striding down the ramp after me - fed up wit his USO actors. We had a coke while he unburdened his mind, then walked to our tree where it was cold and damp, but lovely. Coffee in the mess - how happy he makes me.

Wednesday, February 7, 1945

Tea and dinner with F/Lt Parker at Mead House. Went to the Three Bells for beers between. Two Paratroop officer patients from our neighbor hospital asked about a pub, and as I didn't think any were open I sent them to the Red Cross to wait until 8:00. John and I found the Bells so I rushed up the street and rescued them from the Red Cross cokes and brought them to the Bells. Very grateful - beers all around. A Welshman, an Irishman (RAF) found us. Back to the club here at 9:00 and celebrated Capt Haugun's new commission with cokes while John waited in the bar. He decided he won't see me often since smooches are out, heh-heh! Called J. from the mess and found him low in mind, but exciting as usual. Resisted the urge to walk 30 yards to see him.

(pictured: Chief Nurse, Capt. Ella Haugun)

Tuesday, February 6, 1945

Discovered I'd missed the boys' broadcast last night with Jimmie doing all the music and Paddy and Leo putting on a five hour program. The script was good. Jimmie furnished the setting on piano. The gals say he is wonderful! (Who are they telling?) My heart ached actually, first for not being there. Jimmie missed me, but said he was playing to me anyway. He felt flat and unhappy afterwards - there's no doubt we are tied together by some mysterious likeness. He came to the show at the Rec Hall early - we stood together without seeing anything on the stage. Made ardent love to me in whispers - we finally stood outside and got the giggles - later we were together two hours - of bitter-sweet joy.

Monday, February 5, 1945

Day off - couldn't sleep after 9 o'clock - occupied the bridal bed at Mead House - so soft and luxurious I was quite upset. Called Jimmie as soon as I could after breakfast - not wishing to upset him between 9 and 10 (his zero hour he says). The call was fine - we met at the PX at 2, then I went back to Mead House and met Capt Baker. We drove in his 4-seater to Bilbury, an angler's retreat here, and a center for hunt activities.

Had a rather frosty dinner at the Swan - but four Scotches didn't hurt, had quite a merry time really. Back to the Three Compasses in town and to the club. I accused him of acting like an American when he became amorous. Fixed it!

Sunday, February 4, 1945

Got up early to take Dusty's place at the office. Very busy with requests and calls all AM. A Bromo Seltzer and two coffees helped my health problem. Wrote and finished an article on the Red Cross in the PM. It needs editing, but it's practically done. Jimmie stopped for 15 minutes and I gave him two verses that I'd written calculated to raise his ego beyond minding his lack of a hair-cut. We met at 7 at the Red Cross Service Club and I know we were feeling strange at being downtown together for the first time. We talked at the YM canteen and I walked to the hospital with him and back to Mead House to sleep. He says he was "queasy" - queer and uneasy. So he was queasy , too, but we parted with great assurances - "I love you for (1)-(2)-(3)" he said.

Saturday, February 3, 1945

Had a very nice party indeed at our RC building in the evening for Maj Yeats, who is going to the continent. "Bloxie" was up from Salisbury - I was more or less paired with Col Bartlett, Dusty with Capt Mira, Soph with Maj Brown and Capt Clemm. Delightful Scotch and food - daffodils on the table. Missed Jimmie and called him twice during the evening. Dusty was under the weather so I brought her home about 12.30 and returned to the party. Nice time really.

Called Flt/L Parker in the AM - made a date for Wednesday to explain my change of attitude. Wonder what I'll say?

Friday, February 2

A Western "Opry" at the movies and the boys out en masse. Never had a bigger crowd in the evening. The snow was gone and the evening sky was Spring. Jimmie stood outside the door with me and talked for an hour - then later an hour and a half in the mess over coffee. Each time is more wonderful. But he's taking away the feeling that I'm in England. It's back to Delaware County, Ohio - I'm 16 - he's back from college for Spring vacation. How can such things be?

Wednesday, January 31, 1945

Went to the Detachment Dance with Jimmie - later to the mess for coffee with him where we met Leo and the boys. F/Lt John Parker was waiting at the club for me all evening but of course I had no way of knowing that until I got home and found very disapproving superiors - J. and I must be very careful to avoid being talked about as "going together." Separation for any reason is unthinkable. We are building up a scheme of diverting people from the main issue, which we call the Red Herring Dept. Red Herrings are other dates, other apparent interests which might lead people to think I'm not very interested in Jimmie, and vice-versa. We just move around in a daze as it is - look at each other and smile - can't believe we're so much alike, but know it's true. Except for MUSIC. Those slender, childish fingers with their sensitive pads are so highly skilled and so perfectly obedient to a volatile mind, it fills me with awe.

Monday, January 29, 1945

Day off - Tea at Mrs. Gray's in Cecily Hill. Although it was Monday and my precious day off, I called at a few wards, shooting the breeze with the lads, and took a mirror to one. Shopped in the PM - went shopping for stove lid lifters, films, tobacco for J., and music paper for him. Wound up at Cecily Hill for tea at the Gray's - very quiet and sweet with their three beautiful children, Phillip, Antony, and a most stage-child daughter. It was snowing heavily when I came out - walked to the hospital all alone and arrived at the hut covered with snow. J. back from the country with the entertainers - we talked until they were through in the wards - then went in the ambulance with them back to Malmsbury. The first time we've ever been so alone - on the return trip. It was as new as my new found love. Later coffee again and radio gossip with Leo. Floundering in the snow at last - as usual in gales of laughter - I'm still dreaming...

(pictured: View from Hut 110, Christmas Eve 1944)

Sunday, January 28, 1945

Office in the AM early. Jimmie came and had coffee with me there while I wrapped Purple Hearts. Talked to a father in Scotland, and later got his son to talk to him on the phone. In the PM all sorts of requests. J. in the office for a while. I went to the hut for a while to have tea with Olive and Sally who were down from Birmingham. Jimmie came to the bingo game at the Rec Hall and we talked madly for 2-1/2 hours. The boys were awfully funny tonight. One came in on crutches with his pants falling off. Didn't know whether to replace them or ignore it! J. and I stayed in the mess and had coffee, and then I took him to rehab where he's billeted. We are in the middle of something so terrific that it scares us both. I didn't know it was possible to be a mental twin - I don't see how we can ever separate! (pictured: Red Cross office from Rec Hall)

Saturday, January 27, 1945

The Flight "Leftenant" back from Bruselles with perfume, nail polish, powder for me. Because of my Magnificent Obsession F/Lt Parker is no longer anyone but a nice, sweet Britisher. At the club Jimmie did his usual gorgeous piano work and passed the odd moments with the little blonde entertainer left over from the Rec Hall show. I was so occupied with my Jimmie that all my thoughts were there, and it was perfectly obvious to John, who said I was very charming but no longer his girl. Hard to explain really. Shall have to do it though. The Colonel says my radio shows are all right -

In the PM took bunnies to the wards to make, and told a psycho case how to learn to read music. Very interesting day -

Friday, January 26, 1945

I was standing in the Rec Hall at the movies talking to some lads when Jimmie's voice came over the PA system. It was a thrill - fortunately the movie film got twisted and nobody could fix it, so we had shorts and I heard most of his palereo - Big Time - mellow. I knew he was excited, especially after I called and they wouldn't let me talk to him, because of something. I said, "Listen, I've got through to Bob Hope without this much trouble". He kept sending me little messages in his requests - and referring to our Red Cross foolishness earlier in the day and once said, in explaining the atmosphere in the studio, that "great crowds" were there, " so you see how it is, children." That was me. We went to tea at the Manse, at Major and Mrs. Dugale's, in a taxi - snow on the pines and the Cathedral framed in the window, and everyone loving Jimmie for his sweet talk and fingers making such fairy sounds. Played Clair de Lune for me. A concert later at the Rec Hall. Terrible not to be able to talk. But later at the mess.

Thursday, January 25, 1945

Up at 5:45 after Rachel's terrific coal hoisting crashed into my troubled sleep. Made a cup of Nescafe while waiting to see if the stove would melt under the load of coal she had put into it. I can tell by looking over these pages that I am without grace or humor...yet when Jimmie leans up against a wall to laugh at me - I know that the joy is there and needs only to be evoked. Very curious Svengali effect. I wish I knew something about it. If I could go home with Jimmie now and spend the rest of my life with him, I know the years would pass like the flash of a V-3. Such small hands - he still looks like an altar boy most of the time (High Church!).

A harrowing day: called J. to say goodbye and gave him this telephone # in case he'd be sent elsewhere. The Colonel had come through! He stays. Met at the Rec Hall at 4 for coffee with the clubmobile. Met at 8 in the Mess Hall for 2 hours of talk.

Wednesday, January 24, 1945

The club opened its new bar - pictures - free beer. When the colloquy started over detaining Jimmie from leaving, I detached myself from the Colonel and the psychiatrist and S. and walked away, my stomach having descended to my shoes. It was apparent that the Colonel had no intention of recalling him to our hospital. S. got in her spade work - said that as long as he isn't going to combat anyway - this hospital should get him before the Replacement Center assigns him somewhere else. The C.O., not knowing an arpeggio from an ant-eater, doesn't know he has anything in the Livingston. S. finally got a promise from somebody to detain Jimmie from leaving until his case can be reconsidered. Asked to be called early so she could check on it. A wonderful machine, the Army. Jimmie got paid his four pounds today. I was off duty tonight so we talked steadily from 6:30 - 9:30 in the Rec Hall. Like music...it stops at 10.

Tuesday, January 23, 1945

Another patient talent show - Dusty was ill so I was on duty alone. People came from nowhere and played guitars and things. Jimmie played "Stardust" for me as one of his numbers regardless of the fact that three piano keys were silent!

He told me before the show that he's ordered out Thursday. We talked and had coffee at the mess, and it suddenly occurred to both of us that it doesn't matter where or when we get together - we are irrevocably a joy to each other, and ever shall be. "Such a small girl to affect me so many different ways" - That's me. Small.

The talent show was a hodge-podge of the worst G.I. taste and talent, but Jimmie, smooth and cool, played like an angel. In spite of the news of his leaving we muddled through very nicely. The Hospital (Center) called for our PA system - so that kept us waiting for an extra hour - the nicest hour!

Monday. January 22, 1945

Day off but worked on the publicity stuff in the AM - went to the English YMCA (Allied Officers' Club) for tea. Shopped for Jimmie's tobacco and cigarets. Sat through two movies in the Rec Hall talking with him. The clock goes very fast when I'm with Jimmie. The most astounding thing that ever happened to me. Much too difficult to explain...but something like finding out you were a twin and separated by a bad fairy since childhood.

The radio show is faster, smoother, as if controlled by a zeitgeist. Jimmie came into the studio before I'd finished so I produced my piece, and apologized to my five listeners, and "to the sixth listener who wanders in by mistake and whom we won't let out because of the noise of the door closing!". He spent the PM in the lounge - while I answered requests and had one of the boys do a pastel portrait of him.

Sunday, January 21, 1945

Went to the office late as it was not "my" Sunday - early. Wrote publicity story rest of day - not much done though, for I asked Jimmy to come over. It was rather wonderful to hear a Sunday PM symphony over the radio at that point. No wonder I didn't get much writing done - all Tschaikovsky - went to the Rec Hall movie with Jimmie in the evening. We talk all during every movie, and never know or have the faintest idea of the plot or who is playing. Informed me that it is spelled Jimmie - so that's it - we walked through the rain for a few minutes after Rach closed the Rec Hall - and I came home and talked with the gals. Perfectly content, in our warm little hut, not to be in Oxford where I'd planned to go with Hamilton Greene. Don't know why he didn't call - he checked out of his hotel in London I learned by phone. So much for that - have to write in the office tomorrow while Phil is at a wedding of a nurse and a corporal here. Don't know how they get to that point, because nurses are forbidden to date enlisted personnel. You file a request and publish the bans two months before you want to get married, and wait for permission.

(pictured: Symphony Hour in the Rec Hall)

Saturday, January 20. 1945

A very exciting day for some reason. Wrote some letters for Col Johnson in the AM - and a snappy script for the AGH. Unfortunately, Jimmy was in the station, and during the nonsense I caught his orb and got the giggles - first time ever muffed a script. Did books and stationery on nine wards in the PM - pulling the book cart over mats and matting until I was fairly frantic. The wheels aren't lined up right. I don't think the men need the book cart, but I suppose the matches and the stationery, and the Red Cross appearance is good. They have plenty to read of the S.S. editions. Got Jim's O.D.s lined up at the tailors so he was sharp at the Officers' Club. If you could have seen the impressions when I proudly escorted my G.I. to the bar for a double Scotch! But his playing later was so smashing that everyone was charmed. Had a mortal struggle with the fireman holding the coal myself, had to keep him from firing during a number! The dope had orders to keep the fires fed - Capt Brown relieved me. Talked to J. for two hours after the dance. (pictured: Officers' Club)

Friday, January 19, 1945

Movies afternoon and evening in the Rec Hall - Jimmy made his debut as a pianist at the 188th yesterday at the Detachment Mess birthday party. Played about 50 minutes - they gathered around later, he said. He'll play tomorrow night at the Officers' Club - fingers crossed for him. We want him to come in to the Detachment but he's ready to be assigned and the rule is that the patients go to a Replacement Pool, and go out from there whether or not their own hospital wants them. He's not going back to combat, so the psychiatrist says - nor home. So some UK detachment will be lucky. Jimmie was at a Red Cross hut somewhere in Germany after two weeks of bombardment, a gun in each hand, obscured by mud, a week's growth of beard, half asleep...somebody handed him a record for the Vic and it was his own arrangement of the piece and the band he did it for. Like Barney finding my chapter on thoroughbreds in the New Hebrides. Two birthday parties - coffee with Jimmie in patients' mess - club later where the medicos were discussing malingerers. Interesting. (pictured: Rec Hall)

Thursday, January 18, 1945

Another day and another doughnut for the boys. Thursday is Club Mobile Day - we don't touch them, but the club gals come and give out twice a week. The ward boys take trays and containers and go to meet them. Very necessary stuff. Got to attend at the premiere of "Rhapsody in Blue" - Oscar Levant a joy. But not so much a joy as Jimmy Livingston who also plays the piano. We went to the PX tonight for my five packs of cigarets and cokes. Almost blown over by the wind and rain, and ran off the walk in the dark. I've become addicted to that guy in his pyjamas and robe, and 120 wpm patter. It's sort of exciting - mentally a blitzkrieg. Haven't felt so spellbound for a very long time. Hope he stays around. Queer thing, that quality of excitement some people have. I wish I knew if it were good or bad. We knock each other out talking, and I haven't laughed so much since taking the veil. We all love him.

Capt E. a pronounced success on the radio. English entertainers in wards tonight. Also an explosion in the vicinity - not like Ohio thunder!

Wednesday, January 17, 1945

It's one AM again - no letters written - nothing accomplished again in the hut. Had a charming letter from Johnny a month old, after his three-weeks old one yesterday. Also a picture Jay had taken on some island.

Did wards this morning and got requests for pinochle cards, letters to be written, magazines, stationery. Delivered nine birthday cakes in the PM. Mrs. Murray accompanied me, and we had coffee and cigarettes with May Fleming's officers and Capt E. at Lt Taylor's birthday party. Ping-pong tournament at night, and Jimmy Livingston practicing piano surrounded by his tent notes. Brought me to the hut where I gave him a box of Kleenex and some fanciful soap - the lads can't buy Kleenex. Jimmy is disturbed and so am I over his future disposition. We want him in the Detachment to build up the band - do arrangements, etc. We want him. He's almost ready for D.I. or the army - but he is no armoured infantryman. This is the army - it's pretty tense at times. Capt E. in with his script for me to read. Goes on as a news analyst tomorrow.

Tuesday, January 16, 1945

No one to show my Red Cross stuff to in London Monday, so I'm to write the whole story and will send it on. Was most amused to get a clipping from the Columbus Dispatch from Dad which had been taken from a letter I wrote Helen C. Seems everyone in town read it. I particularly laughed over the part where I fell asleep in the Allied Officers' Club lounge...I much prefer to edit my material when it's going to newspapers! The picture of Jeanne and me accompanied it. Letters from Durham, Johnny, Faye, Lou G., and a luscious package of glamor from Maria.

The radio program today was "A Big Bowl of Crepes Suzettes" with Jimmy Livingston playing Gershwin, and Lt Joe Snyder from Flora Ill. singing divinely. He sang with the St. Louis Municipal Opera. Jimmie talked to me for about four hours PM and evening about his army and musical history - and how he cracked up under 88's. trench mortars, and much gun fire near Aachen. Bless him - I hope we can keep him here with our band - plans are on foot. Had a rousing Bingo Evening - new patients. Capt E. and I talked until midnight in the club. Ham Greene called me from London during inspection!

WASHINGTON, DEC 9 - (Special to the Dispatch) - A former Columbus girl, Miss Virginia Cooley, now serving with the Red Cross in an Army hospital in England, writes Washington relatives of her attempts to cheer the wounded men and to keep them busy at handicrafts. She's getting ready for the hospital Christmas celebration now.

She is the daughter of W.V. Cooley of Galena, Ohio, and the sister of Col. Kenton Parkes Cooley, formerly stationed at Fort Hayes barracks, now on duty with the infantry in Washington. Miss Cooley was formerly employed as interviewer with the Ohio State Unemployment Service in Columbus and is a graduate of Ohio State University.

"Christmas is the big thing," she writes. "We're cutting cans into stars, saving plexi-glass shavings for snow, making cardboard canes, collecting cellophane from cigarets, etc. The men are so wonderful at helping and of course, it's occupational therapy in a way.

"I gave two or three dozen birthday parties in the wards last month, serving cake, but most of all I like to give them felt fur slippers, and teach them to make things like belts and teddy bears."

Continuing, she tells of the life of a Red Cross worker in England now.

"This has been a typical evening. Worked in the wards delivering books and stationery today. It's been misting and drizzling cold rain all day. I can now take it like a proper English woman. Went to town, dozed from sheer fatigue before the fire at the Allied Officers' Club (British), had dinner with some people at the Red Cross Officers' Club, including a colonel from our neighboring hospital who is doing marvelous plastic surgery there. I was at their dance last night, and had a delightful time. Their club is much more luxurious than ours, since our hospital was only set up last May, and still is undergoing some growing pains.

"Tomorrow morning I'm going on a three-day leave. Shall visit Cardiff, which is said to be a most lively and attractive city. I have so little time away from here I feel I should see as much as possible. I have "attended" on several afternoon tours to nearby places of interest, such as Marlborough College, Gloucester, Broadway, visited cloisters and cathedrals, eaten crumpets, etc., but actually what I need is a good sleep in a private room. We are most congenial but the life of a goldfish has its drawbacks. I am very tired and have to get up at 6:30 tomorrow. These trains are an experience!"

(Photo: Miss Virginia Cooley, now serving with the Red Cross in England, is shown prior to her departure for overseas, with her niece, Mrs. Horace Greeley, of Washington, D.C., both formerly of Columbus. Mrs. Greeley, daughter of Col. and Mrs. Kenton Parkes Cooley of Washington has not seen her husband, Maj. Greeley, formerly of Columbus, for four years. He is a prisoner in the Philippines.)

Monday, January 15, 1945

Day off - spent most of it on the bed, writing. Soph is down in London shopping for us and assured me she is going to peddle my ARC piece to Headquarters. Seems to think I could get a publicity job in London; asked me if I'd stay on here at least four months. Will I? I wouldn't leave for the world...I'm hospital-minded now - and would die of nostalgia. Mail from Dad, Louise, Mabel - cards from Helen and Anne. Had tea in my favorite green short chair at the Mead House - took a Cosmopolitan along to read Paul Gallico's article on Buzz Bombs in London. First complete magazine story I've read for many months. Got some flowers at Dusty's request. Missed dinner. Mailed two packages home with my treasures. Soph arrived from London around 11 PM having met Ham Greene accidentally at Grosvenor House. He was thrilled to see the 188th, and will call me in the AM. In the middle of her recital Rachel, who was a little buzzed, came from the mess with 3 lbs. of purloined steak which she cooked on the spot - we really enjoyed it. Got a handkerchief from Lt Dormond's mother.

(pictured: back: Sophie Schramko, Doris Duston; front: Phyllis Coe, Rachel Garrett, Virginia Cooley)

Saturday, January 13, 1945

Officer patient making toy elephant for Capt. E.

Spent the day in the office, and on wards with music group of entertainers. Always enjoy taking them to the wards for they love to have the diversion, and I've become a regular MC. I threaten to sing myself, which puts them in a receptive, humorous frame of mind for whatever (!) is coming. Had an accordionist, singer, and a "bones" novelty act.

Special Services gave the poor troopers salami sandwiches and coffee afterwards, which was certainly no treat. They expected better, I'm sure. Puffed the Gershwin film on the radio - played "An American in Paris" with program notes.

Spent a couple of hours on trench feet and EENT wards in the eve. Talked with a sweet chap from Minnesota who just arrived and was pleased to murmur with a gal from Ohio. (You fall in love several times daily on this job.) Went to the club with Capt E. who was O.D. and made rounds en route. Failed to get Ham Greene in the Orchard Hotel, London. Mrs. Murray arrived at our party radiant, having left her own where titled guests' rambling bored her. I guessed her black dress a Lanvin model, which pleased her. Bought in Lisbon. Coffee at the mess late with Capt E. and Cols T. & D.

Friday, January 12, 1945

All day in the office - sort of day I don't feel I accomplish anything. Policed the place in the AM with GI help, and tried to help collect an art class for Mrs. Murray in the PM. She is charming and talented, but no interesting material has turned up recently. I cut out some felt elephants for the officers' ward to make. Talked to an officer who is a psychotic - wants to marry his nurse fiance who recently visited him. Nix, says Capt E. to such nonsense!

Capt E. was conducting a Jewish service and couldn't go to Mead House for tea with me. The place was full of British brass, including a general and a Scottish kilt - my heaven, they're dashing! I didn't meet them, but chatted with a British engineer. I know. Had a Rob Roy cocktail at Murray's and back to Mead house with Capt E. for dinner. Hamilton Greene called me from London and asked me to please come down Sunday night - he's going home! Says London is "bloody" but come anyway. I told him I'd call him tomorrow night.

Had two scotches and several beers with Capt E.

(pictured: felt toys made by patients)

Thursday, January 11, 1945

Attended at two movies - "The Uninvited". Policed the building in the morning with G.I.s doing the hard labor. Had Hillbilly songs with guitar on the radio - got three requests while he was on. That's the stuff to feed the troops - hillbilly music - they eat it up.

Wrote a letter for Col Johnson after the last movie, and then had coffee with Capt E. in his office. He's quite excited over his news commentary program he's taking over next week. So am I - he has a decided accent, but beautiful timbre to his voice. Charming person - glad we're friends. The most conscientious doctor here I daresay. Told me about the 60 German prisoners we got after D-Day in this hospital - our first patients! Most embarrassing to all concerned. He spoke German to them and they were well-behaved for their month's stay.

Joe Crowe leaving tomorrow.

Wednesday, January 10, 1945

Had a patient Talent Night, off the cuff. Nobody at rehearsal, but Dusty wasn't worried. Found a Lt who sings beautifully at the last minute - he sang "Mandalay" and "One Alone" - we wept, it was so wonderful to hear a good fresh voice over here. Joe Crowe sang "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" - what a love of a boy he is - sincere and dependable. So sorry to lose him. Jimmie Livingston threw us with his really liquid piano playing - Gershwin particularly. He's another sweet-cute character, has home bonds at home, and a Packard in storage. Now in a psycho-neurotic ward for nerves, but the piano helps. Wish he could stay here.

F/Lt Parker came over to kiss me goodbye as he is flying to Antwerp in the AM to look over an RAF base there. Promised me some perfume from Brussels. Gave him a suitable farewell to last two weeks, when he's due back.

Had four birthday cakes today.

(pictured: Jimmie Livingston, at work)

Tuesday, January 9, 1945

Meeting on organizing our recreation program - plans, new schedule for better coverage of wards. Who should drop in to see me but Lt Harry Walley - now Det Commander at the 155th Gen. It was so long since I'd seen him I hardly knew him. Had lunch at the mess, and he told me that Orval is on Taipan - been to Hawaii, Marshalls, Guadulein, all the messy ones - now a j.g. (and a father!).

Two wonderful letters from Durham in France - he writes like an angel. Said he helped a French mother with her bundle of clothes and gave a magic show for the babes on the floor. Said the Arabs bring their girls with them. Wanted to know about our "B-kit" after reading the New Yorker piece. Found an article by Mark Murphy in "Air Force" - he's a S/Sgt with them. (Still don't know what a ARCB-K looks like.)

Monday, January 8, 1945

F/Lt Parker came in for late tea at Mead House, and I was so pleased to have it laid, with the toast warming on the hearth. Some friends of his in, too, playing the piano, and John sang "Rose of Tralee" with his arm around my waist. Then we talked to Michael, aged 11 - who converses like an enthusiastic undergraduate - a striking boy - such fun to see John with a child - he is a warm, gay, adult sort of person who beams at the world through his spectacles. We had a beer at the Black Horse, then back to Mead House for a rarebit. Damned good, too, and jam tart, also.

Took him to his van and asked him not to kiss me before his men. He said, "Don't be absurd!" and kissed me twice, to their admiring pleasure. Good for the morale, John is. Spent several hours and lunch with Mrs. Murray and the children. I'm tired and can't get rested - bought a beautiful brown shiny tea kettle.

Sunday, January 7, 1945

Usual day - opened the office. But I took 24 rehabilitation patients to Kemble Aerodrome on a tour, where we looked at all the splendid British planes with their famous names. Those sweet little Typhoons! Magnificent tea afterward - jam tarts, currant buns, bread and butter, and cold tongue. Very cold at the 'drome, though. F/Lt John Parker out to our mess for dinner - Capt E. and Phyllis at our table. Later a movie, also cold. He's a dear person - blithe as a child. Called me "sweet" and "dahling" at table to Capt E.'s horror, who considered it a violation of the Geneva Treaty, I think, judging by his stern glances. After the movie we walked downtown very fast and checked in at the Red Cross for coffee and sandwiches. Then to Mead House where we both had rooms. My room had a WAFF in it. I slept in bed sox and sweater and was very comfortable: no heat, of course, but la, la - heated towel racks in the morning!

Saturday, January 6, 1945

Club Dance - F/Lt Parker out to the club where we drank beer only, and chattered our teeth off. Then over to the 192nd where Maj Kirk bought us beers in lieu of our not having guest cards. John doesn't know the meaning of the RAF motto: per ardva ad astra - having been too busy the last six years to learn it, especially on Gibraltar. We decided on the free translation of "through danger to the stars" as being the most satisfying. John was modestly pleased at (yesterday) receiving a commendation from the King on his meritorious service in the RAF. Actually he was overjoyed, and had tried to call me last night to tell me about it. Thinks it was for evacuating his unit effectively from "Gib" in 48 hours last winter. We went over to dance as I said, but remained to talk far into the night, as usual.

Shopped this morning in town - bank, and needles, and tarts. Short-changed a ten shilling note, but recovered it later. The fog was bitter cold - glad for a ride home in a 192nd staff car.

Friday, January 5, 1945

Hamilton Greene hasn't seen a pub in late years, so we went to the Fleece for an ale, as it was his last night at the 188th. Took him to the Red Cross Officers' Club afterwards in his G.I. clothes and people observed us enviously. His face is a distinguished one - lined but soft and boyish. Fine dark eyes. Told me about being a part-time auditor in his home town in Vermont. For an artist he has an unusual sense of civic obligation. He is altogether a person of great integrity and charm. Shall miss him.

Wednesday, January 3, 1945

Gathered up Hamilton Greene, the correspondent for King Features, and took him to the Murray's for dinner downtown. He looked charming, although he wore great snub-nosed G.I. shoes and overcoat. (Had come here from Bastogna in pj's after being shot up with the 7th over there.) It was the first time he had been off the post - had seen our town years ago when he was working here in England at illustrating. Mr. Murray was genial and gay - a Scotsman with a beautiful university accent - he gave us Manhattans, ginger liqueur, claret with the bird, and Scotch and sodas. Delightful apartment and two elfin children, Peter and Fiona, who made my heart ache. We couldn't tear ourselves away until 2 am - a most luxurious evening and the first home I've been in since last spring in the USA.! Ethel Murray is from Forest Hills, L.I. She is the most attractive woman I know in England.

(pictured: Mrs. Ethel Murray)

Tuesday, January 2, 1945

Still fatigued from the Christmas rush. F/Lt Parker at the club in the evening - an English show had rendered me hysterical, with G.I.s walking out in droves while a Mendelssohn concerto was played. The E.N.S.A. shows are unpredictable. They mix low comedy with high opera, and the confused audience reacts very badly. Lt Larson had to call an "At ease!" once to stop the noise. I was so tired that after dancing with John at 192nd and drinking a beer I collapsed in foolish tears when saying goodnight. Who knows how long anything will last? (pictured: an ENSA - Entertainments National Service Association - show night)

Monday, January 1, 1945

Day off - Open House at the club between 2-4 pm. Paid my respects to Col Abrahamson, drank an eggnog and came home to rest. F/O Jack Hobbes called me at the club, so we had dinner at the Fleece. He is 21, dark soft eyes and long lashes. Very shy - was at Oxford when called up - flies in training ships over our hospital every night. I brought him out to the club and he seemed most entertained. A precious boy - I felt like his maiden aunt. He lives at High Wycombe in Bucks., at a place called Rosecroft. Said I must call there in my travels and have tea with his mother.

Sunday, December 31, 1944

F/Lt Parker came in a great English lorry and we drove to his base at Donn Ampney for New Year's Eve. First went to his sergeant's dance where Steve, a Scottish sergeant poured us whiskeys and sherries. Wonderful time there - then to his officers' club where we talked with Wg Cdr Hallam before one of the three fireplaces. I love his club - they've suspended parachutes from the ceiling to make a canopy effect - and somehow a baronial impression. Later saw John's little private den - a half hut. He needs one of my little brass paraffin lamps to brighten it - shall give him one.

Celebrated the passing of 1944 rather absent mindedly I'm afraid. Back to Mead House to sleep where I was tortured with cold all night.

Looking Back...from October 1962, Virginia Cooley Strong

We arrived in London on September 8, 1944 via Liverpool on the hospital ship USAHS Blanche Sigman, a small converted liberty ship. We had waited three weeks in Charleston Port for the ship. There were 19 American Red Cross personnel to be used in various U.K. hospitals as replacements. The "invasion" was successfully completed and U.S. troops were rolling across France, but with fearful casualties - the war in Europe had eight months to go, and our 188th General Hospital in Cirencester, old Roman town in the Cotswolds, was one of 98 or so from the Channel to the Scottish border. It had been in operation four months only, but by the next May it would have its 10,000th patient - its capacity was normally 1500 beds. Even so, deaths were few and far between. Until late Spring of 1945 not more than half a dozen had occurred. In a way it was a recuperative hospital - when a man was able to be flown from the war zone, yet needed considerable surgery and care, say 60 days of it, he would go to England to be rehabilitated for limited service, or to be sent home if long treatment was needed.


An Assistant Field Director, her secretary, and three recreation workers comprised the average Red Cross staff.l I was at the bottom, a lowly staff aide, just where I belonged. I had no musical ability, no recreation experience, and no social work in my background. I was in college an English major, later a dress sales woman, an office clerk, an interviewer, and a publicist for the U.S. Employment Service. Also, I had worked a year on the Federal Writers Project, helping to compile the "Ohio Guide". I had written some historical articles for a trade publication, and done some freelance newspaper work on the side. My only qualification for "work with sick soldiers" (as one of the Washington staff called it) was an adventurous spirit and a compeling desire to be of direct, tangible service to wounded men far from home and family. It was selfish enough and no credit is expected. We worked harder than ever before or since in our lives, and enjoyed it more. We were forever admiring the nurses and doctors with whom we shared an equal military status socially, and "in case of capture". But we never were allowed to give a patient medical aid, not even a glass of water. Ours was personal service and diversion, and I think we succeeded except that we were spread too thin. Hospital experience, as a patient, is one that is most easily forgotten and should be, but I hope some of the 10,000 remember the Red Cross gals with a friendly feeling, even if they have forgotten us individually. Seldom did they write back from home, nor did we expect it. We just wanted them to be happy and successful. We weren't allowed to date G.I.s, hence the endless cups of Mess Hall coffee. But I married mine (one of mine!), and admit that it is nobody's fault that we did not live happily forever after. At the time we needed each other as a hope for the future. Later, it was not the same world at all, and we were not even the same people.


So, I took our child nine years later and went back to England, probably trying to find a little of what I'd lost. I never did, of course. But in traveling 13 countries in six years I found Europe, and also some wonderful G.I.s, healthy but homesick as ever. We slept in the same little London hotel where her father and I had rested nine years before. Now it is quite modern, not at all the same. We saw he honeymoon hotel from a car window as we drove through Malvern, and visited the old hospital, now mostly in ruins. Next time I go back I expect the heartache will be cured, nothing lasts forever. I will find out by visiting St. Gabriel's Church, parish of Hanley Swan, Worcestershire, England.


Nothing before had been so exciting as arriving in Liverpool and going to London in the black-out of September 1944. To me it was as good as dying and arriving in heaven. In fact, during the later bombings when no one went to shelters, we hardly cared what happened to us; we were so interested in being in London. Would I go to San Francisco if bombs were dropping? We went to London - to shop and see plays, and eat at Grosvenor Mess! I had never heard of Cirencester, but it was made to order for me.

By October the twilight began at 4 o'clock and soon it was dark, and colder by November than I'd ever been. Our Nissen hut had six beds, one a spare for guests. Its heart was an old iron stove that never wanted to burn, especially coke. It usually went completely out at night so we took turns getting up to start it, after which we made tea, coffee, and toast, and served our mates in bed. This way we got an hour's extra sleep and missed the powdered eggs at the mess. Once somebody made a fire on one match, but it was agreed that to be a champ you had to do it with the only match in the hut.

We didn't get our diaries until Christmas so they missed the best time. Space made me leave out much, but I wasn't writing for posterity, but release of some kind. I could have told the story of Wayne's little hen that came into Paris triumphant on his third tank's green turret, of Hamilton Greene's bullet wound that carried off his ulcer neat as pie, of the bath-robed G.I. who didn't congratulate me on my marriage until he'd found I'd taken a G.I., not a limey or an officer. Or the prize-winning Christmas tree that didn't get a prize in the hospital competition because its loveliness was due to condoms blown up into silvery white balloons. And the Winter wonderland that Ward 16 became when it was festooned with four dozen rolls of toilet paper. Or the party for the 200 children that lasted too long and became a grand escorted tour to ward latrines. But a low point to end them all was Paddy Chayefsky's talent show skit, uncensored, that sent us females right through the floor...

(pictured: USAHS Blanche Sigman)