. . . I saw a Henry Aldrich movie here at the base tonight. Also heard Fred10 & am now back listening to Marian Anderson. I have used this radio almost incessantly. . . .
I sent Barbara an alligator; he ate Mrs. Pierce’s frog in her pool, and finally beat an escape into the woods. If you would like a ‘gator’ at home—give me the word and he’s as good as yours.
Much love,
Pop
I finished my training in Fort Lauderdale in August 1943 and then headed for the huge naval base in Norfolk, Virginia. For the next few months, as I entered my final stage of training, I bounced around quite a bit—to the naval air station at Chincoteague, Virginia; back to Norfolk; up to Hyannis, Massachusetts; to Charlestown, Rhode Island; then back to Norfolk. During this period my squadron was formed, VT-51. (For some reason, I also started dating my letters about this time.)
Monday, Nov. 1
Dear Dad,
I’ve thought this over and I wasn’t quite sure whether I should write or not, but I wanted to tell someone about it, and I think it wiser to tell you, cause Mum might do some unnecessary worrying. I hope you won’t worry about me after hearing it. I wanted to tell you all about it though.
Today on my last flight I was coming in for my final landing when I hit a vicious slipstream from 2 recently landed TBF’s.11 I was ready to land but I shoved on full throttle to go around again—by that time, however, the slipstream had one wing down on the runway. I swerved to that (the left side) going off the runway. As I went off—my wheels hit and one gave way—This sent me careening sort of half sideway on one wing and the belly over the ground. Everything happened so quickly that I can’t exactly remember it all. The prop hit and stopped. I was scared we’d tip over, but luckily we didn’t. As soon as she stopped—I snapped off the switch, gas, and battery and leapt out and to the stern. My crewmen were scurrying out as I opened the back door. Luckily none of the 3 of us was injured at all. The plane is a total loss. Both wings smashed, fuselage slightly buckled etc.-etc. It gave me quite a feeling. While careening speedily and recklessly across the runway a feeling of helplessness not fear seized me. Then there flashed thru my mind the question “will we go over?”—then she stopped and I leapt. Funny I never really was scared. After it was over I had that excited feeling in the pit of my stomach. We were terribly lucky that the ship didn’t burn.
The skipper was very understanding & nice about the whole thing. Nothing will happen to me, I’ll just sign a report. It really was something—one of the things that make flying dangerous is the slipstream, and I really got hit bad.
I feel perfectly now and am anxious to get back in the air tomorrow, so don’t give it another thought. I just wanted to let you know about it.
It was really great seeing you all again this weekend, and I’m now looking forward to the next one—
Ever devotedly,
Pop
Dear Mum,
. . . Now, Mum, I may have quite a secret to tell you in a few days—are you wiser at all? Maybe you can guess—maybe not.
It was such fun seeing you, Mum. It really wasn’t for long—I feel badly about it after; came home and then see you so little. Must be love Mum—No longer am I confused though—I’m just so convinced that Barbara is the girl for me. The only thing that bothers me is the future. I feel certain that right now I could hold down a job as well as men with an educational advantage over me. I have associated for the most part with college fellows since I’ve been in the Navy and in my own heart I know I could do a job as well—The question is what—I wouldn’t want to fly all my life for a living—any job where I could make enough money to have the few basic things I desire would be most welcome. I often think and worry about it—I now know exactly what I want. No college, I’ll have to do without, just a job anywhere with a fairly decent salary. The war will probably last at least 2 years more so my problem is not as imminent as it might be, but it worries me a little. Why this outburst I don’t know—anyway lots of people will need a good butler when this is over. . . .
Ever lovingly,
Pop
This letter was written after I had been home on leave, during which I told my mother that Barbara and I were “secretly” engaged.
Dear Mum,
. . . I’m glad I told you all about Bar & me. You probably knew already; but do tell Dad! I found two letters from Barbara here today. I think she has told her family. She said she was going to and she told me to tell all my family—Poor child doesn’t quite know what “all” means in this case I’m afraid. I do think I’ll write Ganny & Flash12 sometime soon about it. I don’t quite know how to go about it all. As things stand now I’ll probably wait about a year to announce it, but things do so change—I think Barbara is partial to the present—I’ll have to see her soon again and talk it all over. She agreed to my suggestion of waiting till after the fleet, but I can’t be sure her heart feels that way until I see her. As for me, the present would be fine, but somehow the other seems wiser . . .
Incidentally if you see any shiny rocks on our driveway collect them—Seriously though, Mum just for interests sake what does a fairly decent looking ring cost? . . .
Much love,
Pop
As I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, Barbara lost all my letters to her during the war—except for this one, which she kept in her engagement scrapbook.
Dec. 12, 1943
My darling Bar,
This should be a very easy letter to write—words should come easily and in short it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open the paper and see the announcement of our engagement, but somehow I can’t possibly say all in a letter I should like to.
I love you, precious, with all my heart and to know that you love me means my life. How often I have thought about the immeasurable joy that will be ours some day. How lucky our children will be to have a mother like you—
As the days go by the time of our departure draws nearer. For a long time I had anxiously looked forward to the day when we would go aboard and set to sea. It seemed that obtaining that goal would be all I could desire for some time, but, Bar, you have changed all that. I cannot say that I do not want to go—for that would be a lie. We have been working for a long time with a single purpose in mind, to be so equipped that we could meet and defeat our enemy. I do want to go because it is my part, but now leaving presents itself not as an adventure but as a job which I hope will be over before long. Even now, with a good while between us and the sea, I am thinking of getting back. This may sound melodramatic, but if it does it is only my inadequacy to say what I mean. Bar, you have made my life full of everything I could ever dream of—my complete happiness should be a token of my love for you.
Wednesday is definitely the commissioning and I do hope you’ll be there. I’ll call Mum tomorrow about my plan. A lot of fellows put down their parents or wives and they aren’t going so you could pass as a Mrs.—Just say you lost the invite and give your name. They’ll check the list and you’ll be in. How proud I’ll be if you can come.13
I’ll tell you all about the latest flying developments later. We have so much to do and so little time to do it in. It is frightening at times. The seriousness of this thing is beginning to strike home. I have been made asst. gunnery officer and when Lt. Houle leaves I will be gunnery officer. I’m afraid I know very little about it but I am excited at having such a job. I’ll tell you all about this later too.
The wind of late has been blowing like mad and our flying has been cut to a minimum. My plane, #2 now, is up at Quonset, having a camera installed.14 It is Bar #2 but purely in spirit since the Atlantic fleet won’t let us have names on our planes.
Goodnite, my beautiful. Everytime I say beautiful you about kill me but you’ll have to accept it—
I hope I get Thursday off—there’s still a chance. All my love darling—
Poppy
public fiancé as of 12/12/43
December 29
&n
bsp; Dear Mum,
. . . I changed my allotment check, so starting either at the end of January or the end of February the check for 143 dollars will come to you every month. The reason for this is because if I left it made out to the bank and I should become lost the payments would immediately be stopped. If it is made out to you and I am lost the checks will continue to come in until it is definitely established that I am safely in heaven. . . .
all love
[not signed]
Jan. 11
Dear Mum,
. . . I miss Bar something terrific but I suppose it’s only natural. It’s really agony—so close and yet so far away. I think of her every minute and know that I will be completely happy only when I am with her again. I will be so pleased when she is mine for keeps. When that will be it is hard to guess. I certainly hope we can get married before she finishes Smith. As far as her wanting to, that’s settled. We both want to be married, but it’s so clear to see that our wants are not the determining factor in this case. What do you both think I should have to offer Bar before we can get married? She does not expect us to have a thing, but I wonder if it would be fair to her to get married with what I have saved, say in a year after I get back I will have well over $2,000 by then.
Perhaps I’d be sent back out again a few months after we were married. There are so many considerations. The one thing I really want is to have Barbara for my wife and naturally I want that as soon as possible. . . . I have talked to Bar a good deal about it and we both want to get married when I come back from the fleet next year. Please tell me what you think. Mr. Pierce would like Barbara to finish Smith, but I don’t think he’d disapprove of our getting married next year—I don’t know for sure. Mrs. Pierce probably would hate to lose her daughter but she does want her to be happy so that’s the way that stands. Perhaps I should have a talk with Mr. P after shakedown.15
Much love to all,
Pop
Jan. 25
Dear Mum,
Yesterday we went and landed aboard the San [Jac] for the first time . . . We, the TBF’s, landed first. The ship looked really swell steaming along in her battle camouflage. We made a few practice passes down wind and then she swung around into the wind and we came aboard. She was moving at a good clip and the air was nice and smooth, facilitating landings. We each made 3 landings and then cut our motors on the deck. We taxied into position before cutting the motors. On Carriers it is necessary to utilize every inch of deck space. The result is that the line-men taxi you right up to the very edge of the deck. They put me right on the starboard bow and I thought I was going to fall over any minute. With the water rushing by over the side etc. it is quite scary. This putting the planes where they want them is called spotting and it’s very important. The loudspeakers announced that the pilots had 7 minutes so then 3 of us went below for coffee. Everyone aboard welcomed us and was swell to us. These are the first landings a lot of the crew had seen so they were quite excited. Soon the loudspeaker boomed and we manned our planes, started the engines etc. We were catapulted off. In fact I made the first catapult shot ever made from the USS San Jacinto—I was mighty glad the machine worked. I think I’d rather be catapulted than make a full deck take off. . . .
Pop
After a two-week shakedown cruise to Trinidad, British West Indies, the San Jac set sail March 25, 1944, heading for San Diego first, then to the South Pacific. The next group of letters was written from the ship.
Wed. April 12, 1944
Dear Mum and Dad,
. . . I wish I could tell you where we are, what we’re doing etc. I can’t of course mainly because we aren’t allowed to, secondly because I really can’t be sure I know.
I finished the 4 books you gave me Mum and loved them all. I’m going to pick up a couple of more. I am trying to read a few on Russia, because I have become pretty much interested in that end of our diplomatic relations. Then, too, I know so little about it all that a couple of books wouldn’t hurt anyway. . . .
Well, so long for now and much, much love to all,
Pop
April 27, 1944
Dearest Mum and Dad,
I haven’t written for several days but still there is little to write about—at least little which I am allowed to write. I wish I could tell all because it is interesting and will be plenty exciting no doubt.
Have piled up quite a few hours lately and have boosted my total landings aboard up to about 47. One of them (my second to last to be exact) really was a scary devil. I came in high and a little fast—I got the cut & nosed once but not enough—I then hauled back and made a real hard landing, blowing out my right tire and stopping precariously near the catwalk. How I hate to make a terrible landing—I get to worrying about it and also it’s not good for the crewmen. Everyday someone at least gets a tire or 2; so it’s not serious, but I don’t like it.
. . . From now on it’s going to be plenty rugged duty—in a way I’m glad, cause I probably need the experience—maybe you should have been a little bit mean so I would relish the thought of killing etc. When my time is up all I ask for is to get married and be able to be with my wife for some sort of a decent amount of time. How I miss my Barbara—It’s such fun at nite after the hectic turmoil of carrier flight operations is over to lie in my upper and let my mind relax, think of you both, all at home, and of Bar—our wedding.
Much love,
Pop
May 24, 1944
Dear Mum and Dad,
. . . I can say that I have been in battle against the enemy. It is quite a feeling, Mum to be shot at I assure you. The nervousness which is with you before a game of some kind, was extremely noticeable but no great fear thank heavens. I wish I could tell you more about it. Probably will be able to later. Must stop now—
Much much love,
Pop
May 26, 1944
Dear Mum and Dad,
Here is some distressing news which I hate to report. Jim Wykes is officially missing. It has affected those of us who knew him very deeply as he was a fellow whom everyone liked. I personally, have far from given up hope, and as I write this can’t help but feel that he will turn up. He may fall into enemy hands, but at least he’ll still have his life. All we can do is hope. His family has been notified, so it’s O.K. to mention it now. He disappeared on a search mission—good men [his crew], one of whom had just become a father shortly before leaving the states. News like this is unpleasant, but I guess I’ll just have to learn to take it. Jim was my closest friend on the ship—a fellow whom I was very fond of. There is a definite hope—perhaps he will even turn up soon.
Well, I must stop for now and get up on security watch. With much love to all the family I am—
Devotedly yours,
Pop
June 4, 1944
My Dear Mrs. Wykes,
For the past year your son, Jim, and I have been very close friends. We have been together at all our various stations, joined the squadron together, and have roomed together for a year now, even aboard this ship. I know your son well and have long considered myself fortunate to be one of his intimate friends. His kindly nature and all around goodness have won for him the friendship and respect of every officer and enlisted man in the squadron.
I realize that the news of his being missing has undoubtedly brought into your home a good deal of grief and sorrow—but however difficult it may be, you must never give up hope. All of us out here firmly believe that there is an excellent chance that Jim and his 2 crewmen are still alive. I am not saying this merely to console you, for I would not want to give you false hope. You have lost a loving son, we have lost a beloved friend; so let us be brave—let us keep faith and hope in our hearts and may our prayers be answered.
God bless you and your family
Sincerely yours,
George Bush
June 10th
Dear Mum and Dad,
I suppose this is the first letter you’ve received from me in a long time, but in my last
I told you it would be a while between so I hope you haven’t worried at all.
. . . We have received flashes on the invasion of Europe and eagerly await any further news. Every day our ship puts out a sort of newspaper. The news in it is gathered for the most part from aboard ship, but there are a few short wave radioed messages. I am eager to receive your letters telling about how the news was received at home, but I will have to wait a while more for any letters I’m afraid.
. . . As much as I hate to admit it, and though I’d never tell Bar for fear she’d misconstrue what I said, I really think we did the right thing in not getting married. A couple of fellows’ wives in our outfit are having babies now. The guys worry a lot and I imagine it must be hell on the poor girls. No it wouldn’t have been fair to Bar to have gotten married. When I return I certainly hope we can, however. I will have saved $3000 by next fall. I have learned a good deal out here—lots that’s not practical by a long shot, but it all goes to making a man out of one. As far as elapsed time making a difference in my feeling toward Bar I was sure when I left I’d never change, and now as each day passes I am never more sure. . . .
Your ever devoted son,
Pop
June 22, 1944
Dear Mum and Dad,
Things have been happening so fast that I have forgotten when I wrote you last. 3 days ago I had to make a forced landing in the water.16 It was my first water landing and when my engine acted up I was a bit nervous. It went off o.k. however. All three of us got out safely and into our raft. We were rescued by a destroyer. I’m afraid I can tell you no more details than that.
As I write this I have not gotten back to my own ship. Yesterday I was transferred from the destroyer by “breeches buoy”17 to this ship. When I will get back I do not know. I am getting a rest here so I don’t care too much, though I would rather be back with my own squadron.
The transfer on the breeches buoy was quite a thrill. I really enjoyed my stay aboard the destroyer. They all treated me and my crewmen like kings. I slept a good deal read a lot and generally enjoyed myself. When they picked us out of the water the Doc administered us some brandy. The crewmen were always surrounded by an attentive group of listeners and they would have liked to stay there. . . .
All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings Page 4
