Friday, April 14, 1944
My father is reading aloud from a column in the Carlisle Barracks The Medical Soldier on how to survive troop transport. This column advises: “The first thing you want to do is take hold of your life preserver which you found laying on your bunk, and carry this with you everywhere you go, and we do mean everywhere.” Your colored ration card will indicate what time you report for meals. “What happens if you’re torpedoed? Under no circumstances will you ever leave your troop compartment without orders from the P.A. [public address system]… As for seasickness, you may be lucky and have a smooth crossing in which case there will be very few rubber stomachs. However, if the weather gets rough, your steel helmet can always be used as bucket in an emergency.” My father thinks that’s funny. He’s sailed the ocean plenty of times – to Germany in 1932 and back in1933, to the Middle East in 1934 and back and forth in 1936 until his final trip home in 1938. But that was on big ocean liners, The Queen Mary and The New York. Anyway, my mother is the one who’s looking queasy every day. She’s lost her appetite and is tired all the time. She’s not worried about this. My father isn’t either. In fact, they both seem happy that she’s sick. What gives?
Light the Sabbath candles