Mail Correspondence with Soldiers at War (“Feldpostbriefe”): Letter of US soldier Walter J. Slatoff to his son during World War II (Published on 28/12/2022)
Feldpostbriefe and their significance today
When researching Julius Erasmus, one inevitably comes into contact with letter correspondence between soldiers at war and their families from the time of the Second World War, such correspondence being called “Feldpostbriefe” in German. Be it messages about the death of a soldier, written by his superior to his relatives, which were later sent to Mr Erasmus as a hint for a grave search, or other correspondence between soldiers at war and their families at home. Since then, I have also been dealing more closely with field post letters from that time.
Feldpostbriefe are valuable contemporary documents that unfold their timeless message, especially in times like the present, and convey a vivid impression of what war means to all involved. They are a valuable tool to ward off the very beginnings of a renewed striving for war and perhaps to help prevent history from repeating itself once again and with yet more gruesome consequences for mankind. At present, war, weapons and the killing of people on a large scale are once again being drummed up forcefully, although for decades one could have had the vague hope that mankind had finally learned its lesson to some extent from the painful experiences of two world wars in particular. Unfortunately, this does not seem to be the case once again.
With this in mind, appropriate letters or letter excerpts from various sources will be published here from time to time in the section “Mail Correspondence with Soldiers at War (Feldpostbriefe)” as a reminder of what war means to man and mankind. To provide food for thought and in the unshakable hope that this may make a difference.
An American soldier writes to his son during World War II
(Source: Brubeck/Hollins, The story of the 310th infantry regiment, 78th infantry division in the war against Germany, 1942-1945, p. 8 f.):
More terrible than all the words
“MY SON:
War is a more terrible thing than all the words of man can say; more terrible than a man’s mind can comprehend.
It is the corpse of a friend; one moment ago a living human being with thoughts, hopes, and a future – just exactly like yourself – now nothing.
It is the eyes of men after battle, like muddy water, lightless.
It is cities – labor of generations lost – now dusty piles of broken stones and splintered wood – dead.
It is the total pain of a hundred million parted loved ones – some for always.
It is the impossibility of planning a future; uncertainty that mocks every hoping dream.
Remember! It is the reality of these things – not the words.
It is the sound of an exploding shell; a moment’s silence, then the searing scream ‘MEDIC!’ passed urgently from throat to throat.
It is the groans and the pain of the wounded, and the expressions on their faces.
It is the sound of new soldiers crying before battle; the louder sound of their silence afterwards.
It is the filth and itching and hunger; the endless body discomfort; the feeling like an animal; the fatigue so deep that to die would be good.
It is battle, which is confusion, fear, hate, death, misery and much more.
The reality – not the words. Remember!
It is the evil snickering knowledge that sooner or later the law of averages will catch up with each soldier, and the horrible hope that it will take the form of a wound, not maiming or death.
It is boys of 19 who might be in the schoolroom or flirting in the park; husbands who might be telling their wives of a raise – tender and happy-eyed; fathers who might be teaching their sons to throw a ball – bright with pride. It is these men, mouths and insides ugly with hate and fear, driving a bayonet into other men’s bodies.
It is ‘battle fatigue’, a nice name for having taken more than the brain and heart can stand, and taking refuge in a shadowy unreal world.
It is the maimed coming home; dreading pity, dreading failure, dreading life.
It is many million precious years of human lives lost; and the watching of the loss day by day, month by month, year by year, until hope is an ugly sneering thing.
Remember! Remember and multiply these things by the largest number you know. Then repeat them over and over again until they are alive and burning in your mind.
Remember! Remember what we are talking about. Not words; not soldiers; but human beings just exactly like yourself.
And when it is in your mind so strongly that you can never forget; then seek how you can best keep peace. Work at this hard with every tool of thought and love you have. Do not rest until you can say to every man who ever died for man’s happiness: ‘You did not die in vain.’”
Cpl. Walter J. Slatoff
Reg. Hq. Co. 310 Inf.
(Head picture: US Military Cemetery Henri-Chapelle/Belgium, October 2018)
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