World War II Love Stories

by Gill Paul

  Hudson was among a group of 70 National Guardsmen who marched out of his hometown of Greenwich, Connecticut, in 1940. He’d been working as an electrician’s assistant and knew little of the world, but he learned fast during his military training at Fort Blanding, Florida. After the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, his unit was transported to San Francisco and loaded onto ships heading for Guadalcanal in the southwestern Pacific, where the first major offensive against Japanese troops was to be launched.

  “Most of the fellows I went overseas with were from Greenwich,” Hudson later said. “That made it a lot easier for all of us because we knew each other.”

  Halfway across the Pacific, one of the ships in their group hit a mine and sank; as a result, they were diverted to Auckland to re-equip, landing there on October 23, 1942. The young men must have been relieved to postpone their engagement in the fighting, especially given the warm reception they got from the New Zealanders, who were desperate for protection from the looming Japanese threat.

  During the first week there, Hudson was put on guard duty outside a warehouse. He saw a girl working in an office above and called up to her, asking if she would meet him at a side door when she finished work.

  “All I could see from a distance was that he was blonde and had nice white teeth,” Betty remembers. “The Yanks all had the same line, you know. They told me I was beautiful, and I knew damn well I wasn’t.”

  Hudson thought she was pretty, though, and on that first date they found they had a lot in common, including the strange coincidence that they had both lost a parent at the age of six. Hudson’s mother had died in childbirth, and Betty’s father had also died young, leaving her with a mother who struggled to raise her on the limited earnings of a hat model and seamstress. Right away, they felt a shared bond. He didn’t even mind when he found out that Betty had dated his friend Art before him; at least he got to be the lucky one she chose to see again.

  New Zealand declared war on Germany in September 1939, as soon as Britain confirmed their ultimatum to Germany had expired. After Japan entered the war and began flying sorties over the islands, New Zealanders were keenly aware of how little protection they had.

  Betty’s mother had warned her, “Don’t you ever bring home one of those Yanks.” They were getting a reputation for womanizing, and she must have been worried that her 17-year-old daughter would fall for one of them and have her heart broken. There were even rumors of some girls being left “in the family way” by visiting GIs. But when Betty brought Hudson home, her mother and grandmother were immediately taken with him. He was respectful of his elders and Grandma Hilda was particularly impressed by the way he always stood up whenever she entered the room, even if she’d only left it a minute earlier.

  Betty was bowled over by Hudson. She knew she wanted to marry him from the early days of their relationship.

  “Invite him for Christmas dinner,” her mother instructed, and so Hudson shared a festive meal with the family. But this was overshadowed by the knowledge that he was due to set sail again just two days later.

  On departure day Betty came down to the docks to see him off. There were hundreds of well-wishers present and she smiled and waved just as long as there was still a chance Hudson would be able to pick her out among the crowd. And then the tears came; he’d been so perfect. Despite her mother’s warnings, she’d fallen head over heels in love during the three short months they’d known each other. But Betty was nothing if not determined, despite her young age, and she decided then and there that she wasn’t going to let him forget her. No matter what it took, she’d do her utmost to stay in his thoughts and in his heart.

  US troops march down Queen Street in Wellington, accompanied by a brass band: the New Zealanders welcomed them with open arms.

  Island Hopping in the Pacific

  During the course of 1942, the huge wave of Japanese colonization of the South Pacific had been halted by the power of the US Navy and its technologically superior code-breakers, but occupied islands had to be retaken one by one and the fighting was bitter and fierce. Japanese troops dug themselves into caves and trenches and struggled on to the last man standing, while overhead the skies buzzed with fighter-bombers bearing the distinctive red disc on their wings. America had reoccupied most of the island of Guadalcanal by the time Hudson arrived, but the Japanese were still trying to retake the strategically important Henderson airfield, and fighting was heavy at a ridge the Americans named “Bloody Ridge” on the airport perimeter. Hudson had been trained to man a 155mm howitzer and also to drive the large trucks that transported them from position to position, so found himself in the thick of the fighting.

  By the end of January 1943, Guadalcanal had been secured and Hudson’s 43rd Division moved up “The Slot,” a channel that runs between the Solomon Islands, to take the Russell Islands without resistance. From there they moved on to Rendova in the Solomon Islands. The Japanese fought fiercely, but the boys from the 43rd were more than a match and were able to raise the American flag there on June 30,1943, with just four American lives lost compared to the 50 or 60 Japanese soldiers that perished.

  The 43rd Infantry landing on Rendova, Solomon Islands, June 30, 1943. The Japanese garrison there was soon overwhelmed.

  Rendova soon became a harbor for patrol torpedo (PT) boats, from where they staged nightly operations to ambush Japanese supply ships. Among the commanders there was a young John F. Kennedy, commanding PT-109. Legendary fighter ace Pappy Boyington was also on Rendova at the time Hudson was there and became a hero among the men for shooting down 14 Japanese planes in just 32 days that summer. Everywhere there were ships and planes buzzing around, and the men were kept busy throughout their waking hours, but Hudson snatched whatever time he could to reply to any letters from Betty that got through.

  PT-109

  On the evening of August 2, 1943, John F. Kennedy was in command of PT-109 when his boat was rammed and sunk by a Japanese destroyer. He took a straw poll among his men and they decided they would rather swim for it than surrender. Kennedy had been on the Harvard swimming team and managed to pull an injured colleague along with the strap of his lifebelt gripped in his teeth. It took the 11 survivors more than four hours to reach the nearest island, which was uninhabited and had no fresh water. They continued to another island where they found coconuts to sustain them.

  On the fourth day after the attack, they encountered some natives who agreed to take a message carved into a coconut shell back to Rendova by canoe. The message read: “NAURO ISL…COMMANDER…NATIVE KNOWS POS’IT…HE CAN PILOT…11 ALIVE…NEED SMALL BOAT…KENNEDY”

  Finally, on August 8th, all were rescued.

  Naval lieutenant John F. Kennedy in PT-109, and (see here) a military report of the boat’s loss.

  On the night of July 20th, Hudson was sent on a trip to Guadalcanal to pick up more ammunition. He and his colleagues set out in a Higgins boat, a kind of landing craft made of plywood. In the distance they could hear the sounds of Japanese planes “raking the hell out of ships that were taking on wounded,” so they moved across The Slot as quickly and silently as they could. Suddenly, a plane appeared overhead, dove down, and dropped an anti-personnel bomb off their stern. If the pilot had had any ammunition left in his machine gun, Hudson would have been dead. As it was, the force of the blast threw him to the lower level of the boat, where he landed on his shoulder and lost consciousness. He awoke to find that he had been carried ashore on Guadalcanal and was lying in a foxhole with a corpsman giving him morphine for the pain.

  Rescuing a wounded comrade during the Battle of Guadalcanal—31,000 Japanese and 7,100 Americans died there between August 1942 and February 1943.

  Hudson was carried on a stretcher to the field hospital in Guadalcanal, where they realized that his left elbow and left shoulder were shattered and his collarbone broken. Two days after the bombing, surgeons operated on his arm before sending him to recuperate on the Pacific island of New Caledonia, where it was decided
that his injuries were serious enough to warrant a journey back to the United States for proper rehabilitative care. He was put onto a hospital ship bound for San Francisco, but his ordeal wasn’t quite over, because at midnight in the middle of the Pacific, the hospital ship collided with another American ship and both were damaged. He must have breathed a huge sigh of relief when he was finally back on American soil.

  Life in Wartime New Zealand

  New Zealanders were lucky in that battles weren’t fought on their soil, but as a British dominion, the country had declared war immediately after Britain and 150,000 of their young men and women were off fighting. During the early years of the war, Japanese planes were often spotted over the North Island, causing general panic, and as industries were switched to a wartime footing and supplies redirected to the army, there were shortages of common goods. Gasoline was strictly rationed and coupons were needed to obtain clothing, as well as butter, meat, and other basic foods.

  Betty worked for the American Red Cross in Auckland, packing parcels for prisoners of war. These boxes were sent to a central distribution point, but most went to Europe, because Japan had not signed the Geneva Convention and prisoners of the Japanese couldn’t expect to receive them. After work, Betty traveled back to the suburb of Ponsonby where she lived with her mother, and many evenings were spent writing to Hudson. She sent him at least two letters a week, full of news about her life and anxious inquiries about what was happening with him.

  There had always been gaps between his replies, because mail transport was not a top priority in the thick of the fighting, but in July 1943, when she hadn’t heard from him for weeks on end, Betty began to worry. And then, at last, relief came as word arrived that Hudson was in America receiving treatment for arm injuries—safe and out of danger, for the time being at least. In fact, for several months while his bones healed, he stayed in the luxurious Greenbrier Hotel in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, a five-star establishment converted into a veterans’ hospital. From there, he kept up a regular correspondence with Betty.

  Hudson was owed some leave, so he went home to spend Christmas in Greenwich, Connecticut, with his sister Eleanor and her husband Kenneth. He was astonished when the local press greeted him as a hero. “The newspaper reporters wouldn’t leave me alone,” he later recalled. They wanted to know how he had received his wounds and what news he had of other members of the unit from Greenwich.

  WORLD WAR II MEDALS

  All combatant nations issued their own medals to reward gallantry and dedicated service. In the United States the top one was, and still is, the Medal of Honor, awarded 464 times during World War II. A Silver Star was given for special valor in the face of the enemy, and the Bronze Star, of which Hudson received three, was for acts of heroism or merit within a combat zone. Hudson also got the Purple Heart, for those wounded in action, as well as the Asia-Pacific Campaign Medal for all those who had served out there, and a good conduct medal for completing three years’ service. Russia awarded the Order of the Red Star or Red Banner, France the Croix de Guerre, and Britain’s two highest honours were the Victoria and the George Cross. Germany awarded the Iron Cross while Japan had a Golden Kite.

  The Medal of Honor: the top US military award.

  After the 30 days’ furlough were up, Hudson reported to a medical board in Arkansas, which determined that his left shoulder was not sufficiently healed for him to return to the fighting. It was with mixed emotions that Hudson received his honorable discharge from the service in March 1944: relief to have survived the war, but with a sense of guilt that his friends were still out there fighting.

  He returned to live with Eleanor and Kenneth and took a job in the post office. Over the next year and a half he dated other girls, but Betty’s letters kept arriving and he kept writing back. They had a very special bond and somehow no other girl seemed quite as appealing. And then, in late 1945, he saw an advertisement for a special offer by the Matson Steamship Company—they would only charge $250 for a round-the-world ticket for veterans who wanted to collect their sweethearts from overseas. To be eligible for the so-called “Love Boat,” Hudson had to have a letter from Betty agreeing that she would marry him. He was nervous as he wrote and asked her, but pretty sure of her answer. “Anyone who would write me three hundred letters during the war was making a plea to come get her,” he said.

  “Yanks were forever telling New Zealand girls they were coming back to marry them. Famous last words,” Betty quipped. But Hudson actually did. Along with 50 or 60 other servicemen, he sailed on the Monterey, arriving in Auckland in January 1946, to be met by Betty and her mother. “He was wearing a suit,” Betty remembers. “I’d never seen him in a suit before. He looked pretty good to me.”

  The Monterey, known as the “Love Boat,” reunited couples from all over the Pacific.

  They were married on March 9th, with Betty wearing a gown made by her mother, and soon after the wedding they sailed back to the States on a ship full of newlywed couples. They docked in San Francisco and caught a train overland to Connecticut, where they stayed at first with Hudson’s sister and her husband.

  When they first arrived, Betty experienced culture shock over a few issues. Although Hudson had perfect manners, some men weren’t as polite and deferential as they’d been back home in New Zealand. And the food was very different. But before long, Hudson got work with Sears as an appliance repairman, and they moved to a nice home of their own in Greenwich where they had four children. Hudson often teased Betty about her New Zealand accent, which she never lost, but he was a devoted dad who liked nothing more than spending time with his family on camping trips.

  It was a long way to go to find a bride, and a long way for Betty to travel to make a new life with her husband but, as Hudson said just before his death, “If I had my life to live over, I’d do exactly the same thing.” When asked about her ambitions as a young girl in New Zealand during the war, Betty admits she only ever had one: to marry Hudson.

  “If I had my life to live over, I’d do exactly the same thing.”

  Bob & Rosie Norwalk

  Before Bob sailed home from the UK, he and Rosie had their photograph taken in London in November 1945. Faced with months of separation, she is without her characteristic broad smile.

  “I have no intention of marrying anyone in wartime,” Rosie Langheldt wrote in her journal. She was wise enough to recognize that the heightened atmosphere combined with homesickness could lead to foolish choices. But that was all before she met Bob Norwalk …

  Bob grew up in a suburb of Indianapolis, the second of five children. His grandparents, the Nowaks, had emigrated from Poland and changed their name to Norwalk because at that time it was difficult to get a job if you had a Polish surname. His family wasn’t especially well off and Bob worked as a golf caddy during his teenage years, while finishing high school and spending a year at college. He then took a job as a salesman with a precision-tool company and was doing well, making $300 a month in commission, until war began in Europe and he decided it was his patriotic duty to enlist. He went to officer training school in Camp Lee, Virginia, and while he was there an ex-girlfriend called Beatrice kept writing to him. He felt lonely so far from home, and his newly married roommate kept telling him what a wonderful thing marriage was. One way or another, Bob convinced himself that he was in love with Beatrice and they got married right after his graduation, but within a month both knew they’d made a terrible mistake.

  They agreed they had to try to make their marriage work, so when Bob was sent to New Orleans with the Quartermaster Corps, Beatrice accompanied him. By then they had a child, a boy called Bobby. They hoped he would bring them closer together, but the sleepless nights and other challenges of new parenthood took their toll. By June 1943, when Bob was told he was being sent to Europe, they had decided to separate, although both agreed they wouldn’t divorce until he got back.

  April 1945: Bob (left) and his friend Tom Carver had a week’s leave in Paris.


  When America first entered the war, it was difficult transporting men and supplies across the Atlantic because of the number of German submarines targeting shipping, but by 1943 there was a steadily increasing stream of traffic. In July, Bob arrived with the US Army 14th Major Port Transportation Corps in Southampton on the south coast of England, and it was immediately apparent that he would have his work cut out for him. The city had been hit by 57 bombing raids, the last of which occurred in the month Bob arrived, so that much of the port and city center had been destroyed. However, it was his team’s responsibility to bring in roughly 120,000 American troops per month and hundreds of thousands of tons of equipment, and to make sure they all got to the places they were supposed to be. Over the next two years, 3.5 million men would pass through Southampton, and accommodation was often so scarce that they had to “double-bunk”—share a bed with someone who slept at different hours. Landing craft lined the docks while jeeps, tanks, and huge ammunition stores were stowed around the vicinity. All were busy preparing for Allied landings on the Continent, but no one as yet knew precisely when those might be.

  Bomb damage in Southampton—2,300 bombs and more than 30,000 incendiary devices were dropped on the city, either damaging or completely destroying almost 45,000 buildings.

  Bob was assistant coordinating officer for troop movements in Southampton, making him a key figure in the D-Day preparations. Everything went like clockwork in Southampton—according to port commander Colonel Kiser, “Never did a vessel miss its convoy”—and the D-Day landings on June 6 and 7, 1944, allowed the Allies to establish a beachhead in Normandy. It was a massive logistical success that must have given Bob and his colleagues a lot of headaches in the planning and implementation; but their work wasn’t over. There were more troops to send across, and soon after D-Day the first casualties started to flow back to port.