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Today’s letter is from soldier Harry Lowell to his sister Eva who was a nurse in San Francisco.

 New Guinea
March 7, 1944

Dear “Angel in White”,

Thank you for your letters, old girl; letters here are as welcome to us as a piece of a boot is to a starved Arctic explorer – even more so.

The news about your quitting your good job had me sort of worried, in view of Tillie’s probable anger. (I like to have “all quiet on the home front.”) Furthermore, your intentions to accept that Standard Oil offer led me to believe that you are becoming more and more like your brother – looney is the word. I appreciate your adventurous spirit because I know I’d do the same thing if I were you. Due to my valuable experiences in the desert and tropics, I am in a position to give you sound brotherly advice; my “cons” outnumber your “pros” by a longshot. I can about imagine what your “pros” are, so lend an ear to the “cons” of your affectionate brother who is always looking out for the welfare of his foolish little sister. (How dramatic, eh? I would be pretty good at writing soap operas don’t you think?) Well, to begin with, life there will be different from what you expect it to be. I know what it is like to be far away from family, friends, and things which in civilization are taken for granted but which, far away, gain a thousand percent in value. It’s a sort of loneliness that overcomes one. To add to your tasks as a nurse, that feeling of loneliness and quasi seclusion from the outside world and its comforts, would be foolish. (As you are not very religiously inclined you are apt to go batty before you know it). That part of the world has nothing to offer in scenic beauty or nice weather; desert may be the only scenery surrounding you and intense heat is the climate there. (I suppose you’ve read about the hardships of the Foreign Legionnaires. That Standard Oil plant may be just as secluded as a legion’s fort.) A further “con” is that a pretty face on a nurse in that corner of the world is a disadvantage rather than an advantage. If the men over there feel the way we lonely soldiers here do – o lá lá – some maternity ward would have plenty to do. (By cracky, I sound like an old grandmother!) Believe me, Eva, one does the most irrational things away from civilization. (The nurses here have the reputation of the WACs of whom I wrote you from Fort Warren.) There are more “cons” yet, but they would fill pages. Tell me in your next letter whether my lecture surpasses that of Paul’s.

Things are about the same as before; New Guinea is a good place to stay away from. If it weren’t for the postal regulations I would like to send a nice foot-long constrictor to Ursula’s mother [Ursula was a friend of Eva’s from nursing school]. I’ve seen quite a few big snakes and rats that were about two feet long. There are many peculiar insects to make life more interesting and itching.

The food isn’t bad at all.

How are things going in San Francisco? I would give a lot to be there right now. Daydreaming is becoming a habit with me.

Have you seen Hilda lately? I hope Paul is coming along fine.

So you are teaching French to Ursula; what is she going to do with that knowledge? I think English will be used instead of French as the international and diplomatic language.

I certainly envy you for the opportunity of going skiing every weekend! Well, I’ll be back soon; it won’t be long now.

Well, that’s about all there is to write at present.

As to my advice, I hope I have described the situation as dark as possible. It should give you something to think about; anyway, think twice before you rush into such an adventure. (Ugh.)

Love,
Harry
(Chaplain)

P.S. Give my regards to everyone.
P.P.S. Please, send me some copies of the Sunday editions of the Examiner and Chronicle.
P.P.S.S. If it’s possible send me also some Readers’ Digests.

        Thank you.

This letter gives us a glimpse into the lives of Helene’s children after living almost 4-1/2 years in the U.S. They have been separated from their parents since 1939 and have heard virtually nothing from them since late 1941. I imagine they know their parents have been sent to the camps, but communication was far more difficult and sporadic than it had been while Helene and Vitali were stranded in Vienna. Eva and Harry are unable to do anything at this point to assist their parents.

This letter is filled with the same kind of humor and spirit as their mother’s letters. We learn a great deal about Eva’s life thanks to Harry’s references to her letters.

Eva wanted a life of travel and adventure. We learn here that she was considering a job as a nurse at Standard Oil, presumably in the Middle East since Harry mentions the desert. Her brother was able to get out of San Francisco, but there was no encouragement for her to do so. I have often wondered how different her life would have been if she had been born at a time and place where she was encouraged to follow her dreams.

I love Harry’s brotherly advice. He has adopted a lot of American slang. It is interesting that he talks to Eva about what it’s like to leave everything and everyone behind to go to some remote location. Of course, that’s exactly what they did together in coming to San Francisco! My mother’s experience of American young men was not positive, and his advice would not have made her any more trusting. It’s no wonder she ended up marrying an older immigrant from Europe.

Below Eva’s 1943 nursing school graduation photo. She is at the far right in the front row (a bit out of focus).