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Somewhere in
New Guinea
February 26, 1944

Dear Bertha and George,

Both your letter and your thoughtful present reached me a couple of days ago. I celebrated my birthday aboard a transport this year; as the boat was packed I couldn’t do much celebrating. Many thanks for the candy which came just at the right moment; my tent-mates enjoyed it very much too. I would like to send you some “hand-picked” coconuts, but I’m not allowed to do so.

The country is rather wild around here, I have seen a few snakes, kangaroos, and also wild rats that were as big as cats. There are plenty of mosquitoes and other insects which keep me scratching. Where we are there are many coconut trees which keep us supplied with coconuts. When I first arrived I couldn’t get enough of them, but now I eat them as I would bread; the novelty has worn off already.

Life is rather on the primitive side. We had to cut away a lot of jungle brush to make an area in which to settle down. You’d be surprised how much uncivilized living brings out the hidden talents of the men. We rigged up a wonderful shower; a natural spring supplies the cold water. We have some good carpenters in our company who have done a good job of making our stay here more comfortable.

I have come across a lot of Aussies and they seem to be very nice chaps. When soldiers first came here the natives used to do the washing and ironing for them, but this practice was discontinued by order of some general.

The food is much better than that which I have been used to while I was still in the states. There we had only canned meals, but here we get mostly fresh food.

A couple of weeks ago I went on a hike with some of the fellows. We hiked up a steep mountain in a rocky riverbed; as we reached the top it started to rain and the water rushed down a huge waterfall, branching into smaller falls, finally settling down in the river at the bottom. It was beautiful sight; indeed, it was worth all the hard work of climbing up a mountain of almost eighty-five degrees. On that excursion I wore out a pair of G.I. shoes.

Well, it’s getting late, so I’ll have to close now. I hope you both are well and in good spirits.  

Yours as always,

Harry

P.S. Note my new APO number: 928.

In today’s letter to Helene’s cousin Bertha in San Francisco, we get a taste of the life of a G.I.

I always wondered why the U.S. Army would send a native German speaker to the South Pacific, rather than to Europe where he doubtlessly would have been of more use. A few years before Harry’s death, we did an oral interview. Throughout his life, Harry was a positive person, not one for regrets and grateful for the life he had had and the opportunities he had been given. He emphasized how he was a “fatalist” (like his mother) and mentioned several times how he had been saved from certain disaster. One example was that he was indeed supposed to be deployed to Europe. On the day his unit was scheduled to leave, Harry’s train was delayed and he missed his connection. In the end, Harry was assigned to a different unit, ultimately being deployed to the South Pacific. Harry said that most if not all of the soldiers in his original unit perished almost immediately on the battlefield in Europe.

This letter shows Harry’s understated sense of humor, similar to that of his mother. Rather than dwelling on the discomfort and complaining about conditions, he accentuates the positive (fresh food!) and makes wry observations, allowing our imaginations to fill in the blanks.

This photo of Harry and some of the “fellows” shows some of the dense brush mentioned in the letter: