Mail Correspondence with Soldiers at War (“Feldpostbriefe”): Letter from US soldier Sidney Diamond from the South Pacific to his fiancée Estelle Spiro in November 1944 (Published on 29/11/2024)
In August 1938, Sidney (“Sid”) Diamond, aged 16, met 14-year-old Estelle Spiro in the Bronx in New York. Initially friends, they subsequently fell in love and became a couple; they started talking about marriage in 1940. Then came the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, whereupon Sid dropped out of college in April 1942 and volunteered for the US Army, against the firm protest of Estelle and his family and friends. He became an officer and, after successfully completing his training, was assigned to a mortar outfit in the 82nd Chemical Battalion. In May 1943, the two became engaged in New York’s Central Park before Sid took part in the fighting in the South Pacific. During the period of separation, a lively, often affectionate and humorous correspondence developed between the two, which is documented in the book “War Letters – Extraordinary Correspondence from American Wars” by Andrew Carroll on p. 284 ff.
After Sid had taken part in the battles for the Solomon Islands as a forward observer from January to April 1944, he was deployed in October 1944 during the US invasion of Luzon, the main island of the Philippines. On 1 November 1944, he sent the following letter to Estelle (source: Carroll, War Letters, p. 291 ff.):
“Darling,
Almost seventeen months overseas. It seems like such an endless interlude. Yet, somehow, the day of departure is so clear. — The way we walked from camp through sidestreets to the pier. There were no bands, no flourishes, few people. A few lonely citizens watched us go by with a dull expression of having seen the show before. Many other troops, on many other days had preceeded us — and there were many more days and troops to come. A woman cried. A young girl waved. The men were too hot and impressed by the occasion to whistle at her. Then the morning when the ship went around the harbor checking the instruments. We did a lot of thinking that morning.
There was a peculiar sensation that all this wasn’t new — that our ancestors somewhere had experienced the same tightening around the stomach. Perhaps the feeling was inherited from our animal forebears. Were we not about to engage in the birthright of beasts? — Soon we were to live, eat, hate, fight like the beasts of yesteryear. Man hadn’t changed much. Sure, we had tanks, carbines, mortars, planes — They were only aids to man’s activism.
Some of us felt cheated — We had gambled but believed our losses to be excessive. The man with the new born baby, the man who just got married, the younger boys who wanted only to live in dreams of youth — no, ’Stelle — There were no bands!
Then in retrospect came the second departure — A soldier always ‘departs’ He never ‘arrives’ — When we left New Caledonia — We’d gone speeding through the streets of the capital city — More departures, more thoughts, more wondering about the ‘arrival’ — Each island is only a place to depart from to go to another island — You never get where you’re going. The morale services and motion picture heroes say we won’t stop until we reach Tokyo — We know our departures, leave takings, will never end — Sometimes one wonders as he sees the white crosses neatly lined up in well formed ranks — Sometimes the cemetery brings the question to one’s mind — Are these the men who have finally ‘arrived’? The chaplain calls them the ‘departed’ ones — but their journey is over — ‘Last Stop — All Out!’ This letter may well be titled ‘Random melancholias’ and politely dumped into a trash basket.
The ghost of Johnny Martin parades before us now — a nice kid — about twenty — The army hadn’t aged him much — He laughed a lot. Johnny never complained. I can remember, so vividly, so cruelly clear — our last few days before we left the States. We had a beer party. Johnny played the guitar and sang western and hill billy music — Sometimes, when I’m not watching myself I catch myself humming the ‘Truck Drivers Blues’ his favorite — They didn’t allow men to carry excess baggage so I carried his guitar with my equipment when we left. — Martin wasn’t brilliant. What he lacked in education he made up for by his cheerfulness and eternal smile — He was just another guy — who got off at the ‘end of the line’.
Don’t mind this morbid nonsense. Sometimes the loneliness overwhelms me — the noises of the insects, birds, small creatures seem to crowd into my tent crushing against me. It is terrible to live with memories only. — The soldier doesn’t think of the future, His “present” just exists and the Past is all he can think about
’Stelle I wouldn’t write or speak this load to anyone but you because it sounds so childish and you’re the only one to whom I can moan. Reminds me of a ditty make up fad we have here. Once I complained about some nonsense so now, every time I open my mouth I’m greeted with a
‘Moan and groan With Sidney Diamon’’
(…)
Anyway I’m moaning and groaning on your very nice, soft shoulders — I want to be with you — I love you
Your,
Sid”
On 29 January 1945, 1st Lieutenant Sidney Diamond, 82nd Chemical Battalion, was shot in the stomach during the fighting on Luzon and died as a result. He was 22 years old. Estelle had last seen him on 16/05/1943, two days after their engagement.
(Head picture: Grave crosses at the American military cemetery
in Henri Chapelle/Belgium, October 2018)
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