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This letter was written by an Army nurse named June Wandrey. She wrote three different letters, each describing different experiences she went through as a nurse. The first one talked about the painful memories they had to endure because of the loss of many soldiers. The second one talks about how violent it can be even off the battlefield. The third one talks about the life POWs go through, rations, living conditions, and abuse. All resulting in emotional and physical damage. "Working like slaves" this quote is describing the working conditions for the nurses working in the hospitals. This job was a big responsibility for women during this point in time because there were many soldiers that were wounded and lives that they worked extremely hard to save.

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From the October 2007 issue: Army nurse June Wandrey stood five feet two inches tall with, in her words, "finely honed muscles that were dynamite ready." That forceful spirit was evident in her wartime letters as well; Wandrey did not mince phrases when it came to her disdain for Franklin D. Roosevelt ("our horrid, war-loving president"), her impatience with army officers insensitive to the needs of enlisted soldiers, and, most of all, her fierce love for the young GIs under her care. On August 14, 1943, she wrote the following letter from Sicily describing why she felt so committed to the troops brought into the hospital: A Combat Nurse's Exhausting Sorrows, Unexpected Joys
Dearest Family,

Working like slaves. Too tired to write and it's always too dark to see when I get off duty. We were so close to the lines we could see our artillery fire and also that of the Germans....

In our pell-mell existence, we received our first naval casualties. A ship right off shore from us was bombed and strafed. Even our dentists were doing minor surgery we were so swamped.... Working in the shock wards, giving transfusions, was a rewarding but sad experience. Many wounded soldiers' faces still haunt my memory. I recall one eighteen year old boy who had just been brought in from the ambulance to the shock ward. I went to him immediately, he looked up at me trustingly, sighed and asked, "How am I doing nurse?" I was standing at the head of his litter. I put my hands around his face, kissed his forehead and said, "You are doing just fine, soldier." He smiled sweetly and said, "I was just checking up." Then he died. Many of us shed tears in private. Otherwise, we try to be cheerful and reassuring.

I've seen surgeons work for hours to save a young soldier's life, but despite it they die on the operating table. Some doctors even collapsed across the patient, broke down, and cried.

There are many dedicated people here giving their all.

Very tired.
Two days later, Wandrey wrote to her sister about one of the war's most famous generals and an incident that infuriated countless service members, herself included.
June

Dear Betty,

Today, I had a ride in a car, which had springs. Our backs and ovaries take a terrible beating riding in the back of a truck and over pock-marked roads. We moved to Falconie. Saw General Patton and General Wilson.
Yesterday General Patton was visiting wounded patients at the 15th Evacuation hospital. He spied a patient who wasn't wounded and asked him what his problem was. He didn't like the answer and using his gloves slapped the sad soldier across the face. Lucky it wasn't one of my patients or I'm sure I would have hit him back. When I was in eighth grade, my short-tempered teacher hit Bill, our slow-paced neighbor boy over the head with a fat geography book. I grabbed the book out of her hands and bawled her out for hitting him. She flunked me in deportment.

A bomber crashed very close to us, but the crew bailed out safely.

Went swimming.
As much as Wandrey was worn down by fatigue and the stress of being in harm's way (hundreds of American nurses were killed during the war), there were moments of unforeseeable exhilaration. Wandrey wrote the following letter on March 28, 1945:
Love, June

Dearest Betty,

When I got off duty, I heard that our troops had liberated a POW hospital with hundreds of patients several miles from us, in a place called Heppenheim. Although it had started to rain and was getting dark and I was exhausted, I wanted to visit the prisoner-patients....

Two hundred and ninety of the prisoners were scruffy, starving, wounded Americans. The prison population included Russians, French, Italians, Slavs and Moroccans. Some of our men had been there for seven months. Their smaller wounds were covered with toilet paper, their brutal amputations were covered with rags. The men had torn their field jackets in shreds to bind the primitive dressings. Their bodies were covered with scratches, inflicted when they clawed at their body lice.

Breakfast was a piece of wormy, black bread about two by four inches-a loaf of bread a day for eight to ten men. Lunch was a small bowl of potato-peeling soup with sometimes a little rice in it. If they didn't finish it for lunch a little water was added to it, and that was their supper. They were shaved sometimes once a month, rarely oftener. Once a month they got a clean sheet. Blankets were never changed nor laundered. If they vomited in bed, it just stayed there with them....

Our troops had by-passed this village, leaving behind one lone GI who had become separated from his company. From their window, some patients saw him crouching at the corner of their building, rifle in hand. They sneaked out, brought him in, and showed him their horrible conditions. Finally he slipped out, found his company, and returned with them to liberate the hospital.

As American rations poured in, the men cried. The corridors were stacked with cartons of inappropriate food for these starved men and their shrunken stomachs, but I guess that was all that we had to give at that time. All those who could eat, stuffed themselves so full of rations that most everyone became nauseated. The walkers would go outside and vomit and then gorge themselves and vomit again. It was just for the taste of the food going down, they didn't worry about the return trip.

When an American died, the Germans wouldn't touch him. They'd make the GIs who were able to walk carry him out and dispose of the body. If one of the men died before he could eat his ration of black bread and slop soup the remaining fellows would fight over it but end up giving everyone a nibble.

You should have heard the joyous shrieks when the men saw me walk through those sad, louse-ridden wards. I went cot to cot. They had dozens of questions, everyone talked at once. Some talked to me until they were hoarse. Others just stared in disbelief, some touched my cheek, my hair, my hands. Still others touched my rough, wet fatigue sleeves like they were made of gold cloth and satin. Tears ran down our faces. Everyone wanted to share their recently acquired cigarette and C rations with me...or they'd say, "If you can just wait a minute, we'll make you some coffee." The lump in my throat nearly choked me. It was difficult being carefree and gay. But they wanted laughter, and female chatter...and I tried. Blarney comes in handy.

A priest in the village had a secret radio on which he'd listen to the American broadcasts. He'd relay any news to the American doctors who in turn would whisper progress-messages to the men at night, when they made their rounds.

Most people will never be privileged like I was tonight. Exhausted but exhilarated,
Wandrey returned home in late 1945 after receiving eight battle stars for campaigns in North Africa and Europe. She died nearly two years ago, at age eighty-five.
June

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A Combat Nurse's Exhausting Sorrows, Unexpected Joys | HistoryNet

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From the October 2007 issue: Army nurse June Wandrey stood five feet two inches tall with, in her words, "finely honed muscles that were dynamite ready." That forceful spirit was evident in her wartime letters as well; Wandrey did not mince phrases when it came to her disdain for Franklin D.

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https://www.historynet.com/an-american-pilot-encounters-the-ghosts-of-buchenwald.htm

It’s about a pilot that visited a camp in 19and was scared by what he saw in the camp dead bodies all over the place.   It takes place in an concentration camp in Germany. I found it surprising that an American soldier would go visit a concentration camp because it seemed like people didn't care about that then.  They talk about human flesh and bodies.  He was a pilot so he bomb most of the cities in Germany during the war.

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https://www.historynet.com/patrick-hitler-makes-a-case-to-fight-the-reich.htm
The nephew and only descendent of Hitler wants to join the fight against germany, but can not due to his british citizenship and the fact that he is related to hitler, so he is writing to the president of the United States. This is during the war when many people wanted to enlist

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The letter is about a father talking to his son about what the uniform he is wearing means and what it means to those that have worn it before him. It also is about a parents showing his son that he cares and that he can't be there to help him in person. He and his wife will do all they can to be there to help him and to guide him along in spirit. These letters are important because it shows how solider face danger and if injured may not be able to be helped for who knows how long.

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On the day he turned 18-May 3, 1943-a high school student named William Fee rushed to the local selective service office to register for the draft. Throughout William's childhood, his father, Dwight, who had fought in the devastating Meuse-Argonne offensive in World War I, strove to instill in his son the values he held dear: duty, honor, and integrity. When William went off to basic training, Dwight sent him the following letter:
Wednesday July 28, 1943
Dear Will:
Well, I guess you're a soldier, now-a rook, anyhow, and on the way. At any rate you're in the uniform so many of your people have worn. I know you'll never forget that you've worn it, if you live to be a 100. Never forget, while you're wearing it, exactly what it means and stands for; live up to all that it means. I know you'll never disgrace it or do anything while wearing it to make it look cheap or tawdry. If this is corn, let it be corn....
I got a big kick out of your phone call; sorry mother wasn't there, and so was she. We'll stay in till 9 p.m. every night now till you leave Meade, and hold the girls to 3-minute calls....
We had a terrific rain and thunder storm last night-washed all the earth off the corn roots which lie exposed above ground, every stalk flat on the ground. I never saw so much water-all grass in our back yard covered for an hour or more.
I must go as we're dining at Bill Baird's to meet his mother.
Will write tomorrow.
As always, Pop
After a year of training, Fee was shipped overseas with the 11th Armored Division. Dwight-a newspaperman from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania-wrote to his son:
October 1, 1944
Dear Will:
Well, I figure you're off on the Great Adventure. There will be many disagreeable experiences; soul-shaking experiences; tragic experiences; uplifting experiences. You will see examples of selfishness and selflessness that will stir you tremendously. I have no doubt that you will develop the same respect that I have for the Infantry, the Gol-Darned Infantry, and the same awesome regard for the Medics.
I have no fears for you; you will do well. You have the finest spirit of any one I know of. I wish I could go FOR you, or at least WITH you, but this is your war. Mother and I will pray that God will give you courage for any danger you will have to face; that you will be given steadfastness, and patience, and resolution. We believe that God lays on nobody more than he is able to bear; that through all trials God will provide the qualities needed to meet them. I believe David: The Lord upholdeth all that fall; The cast-down raiseth up again.
Just be your own self: and there are not many people to whom I could say that.
You are serving in a great cause. Because of you and those like you millions of fathers and mothers and children again will be able to think and speak freely without fear; to live their lives without oppression. And we here at home will be spared what most certainly would have been the fate of those people if all of you had not gone out to prevent the domination of the world by Japan and Germany (and Italy)-and don't think for a minute that they wouldn't have dominated it. And they'll try again in another generation if they can. Goodnight, son. Have at em!
As always, Pop
Keep busy. Keep bucking.
[continued on next page]
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A Father's Thoughts on the Importance of a Uniform | HistoryNet

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On May 3, 1943, a high school student named William Fee rushed to the local selective service office to register for the draft. Throughout William's childhood, his father, Dwight, who had fought in the devastating Meuse-Argonne offensive in World War I, strove to instill in his son the values he held dear: duty, honor, and integrity.

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https://www.historynet.com/an-immigrants-plea-to-a-powerful-man.htm
This letter is about a man and his family being harassed by the F.B.I. for being born in Germany. They were constantly threatened with being deported back to their home land, during the middle of WWII they were finally deported to Germany. The Graber family like many other immigrants from Japan, Germany, and Italy were harassed during the war and sent numeros Internment camps in the US because no one trusted them.

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From the March 2008 issue: An Immigrant's Plea to a Powerful Man
The plight of Japanese immigrants and Japanese American citizens interned in the 1940s is well known. But German and Italian immigrants in the United States also faced possible internment, relocation, travel restrictions, and property confiscation during World War II. On December 31, 1942, a German immigrant named Theodor Graber typed the following letter to the only man he thought could save him and his family from what he considered to be unwarranted persecution by the FBI:

Honorable Franklin D. Roosevelt
President of the United States of America
Washington D.C.

Dear Mr. President:

I know that you Mr. President are very busy in a time like this with the most important task for the country; the winning of the war. But I really do not know any other way than write to you as the last resort in this case. So I beg your Pardon and I hope you still spare a few minutes and read this letter and may help me and my family.
I am a German Alien (Enemy alien now) 29 years old and came in Nov. 1935 in this country. In February 1939 I married in Westfield N.J. the former Emmy Rehm, 23 years of age, who came Nov. 1937 in this country from her native Germany. We both resided in the USA continually since our entry. We came here with the intention to make a better living and later on become U.S. Citizens.

In May 1937 I took out my first papers here in Elizabeth N.J. But since this country became involved in the second World-war about a year ago, the situation for us as German Aliens became tougher. Me and the wife complied with all the new laws and regulations. We did not miss any registrations.

We have 3 children now: (all boys) Werner is 3, Gunther is 11/2 years and Theodor jr. is 4 weeks old.
Since March 1937 I work as a Toolmaker in The International Nickle Co. Research Laboratory Bayonne, N.J. Before that I worked as a Toolmaker in the Garwood N.J. Plant of the Aluminum Co. of America. As to my knowledge my present employer has Government or defence contracts that I am working on.

We always did our duty and had never trouble with the law or anybody. We never were arrested in our life until we came in contact with the F.B.I....

On April 10th this year a F.B.I. Agent or rather a local detective visited me in my working place in Bayonne N.J. It was noontime and I was questioned for about 1/2 hour in the directors office. Questions about my personality, my financial status, the names and addresses of mine and the wifes closest relatives in Germany. Other questions were, if I would argue with people about the war, what I never do. At the end the inspector told me: do not worry about anything you have on excellent record here with the Co.

Later on I learned that this trouble came from my former landlord where I lived for about 11/2 years in Bayonne. They immigrated in this country from Poland or Ukraine and after the German troops marched into these countrys, the land-lord and his wife got different feelings toward us....

Now on Sept. 9th 1942 6:30 pm. Came one F.B.I. and two policeman and searched our apartment. I had no contraband in my possecion.

I belong to German sick and death benefit society and a German Singing Society here in Elizabeth N.J.
Well the F.B.I. Agents came back again on Sept. 24th 1942 9:30 pm and arrested me and the wife and wanted to take us to the police headquarters. I wanted to know the reasons for that, but they could not give me any others than for being an enemy alien. I told the agents that I have two little children, which we could not leave all alone. Therefore we did not have to go to jail in the night time, but the next morning we went to police headquaerter, to get fingerprinted and our pictures taken. We were released under parole in custody of the F.B.I.

Well my wife was about 5 months pregnant with her 3rd baby and she received quite a shock that time and she did not feel well ever since.

The F.B.I. agent told us we will get a hearing before a Alien-Hearing Board in Newark N.J. but instead we had first on Oct. 16th 1942 to go to Ellis-Island Immigrations Headquarter. There we had to fill out a 26 page Questionaire about our personall history and had to sign a statement that we would like to choose in case we would get interned for the duration of the war.

I am sorry Mr. President, but neither me nor the wife did come into this country with any intention of any kind to sabotage or work against the government.... Mr. President, if I would be a man like the F.B.I fears, I can assure you I would not be here in this country, I would be on the other side and fight. And I would not work on defence work either....

And Mr. President, every criminal or gangster has a right to court or hear the decision of the Hearing-Board. Are not we as human beings entitled to know the decision of the Hearing-Board in our case?
All we did get as a answer was: you can go home now.

My wife...came home from these Hearings every time sick to death from all the excitements. And all this was not beneficial to my wife, who was in a pregnant condition. She did feel sick mostly times since the F.B.I. came around first in the night to arrest us.

So on Dec. 2nd in the morning my wife started to get real pains. She was home all alone with the 2 children. She called up her doctor who fortunately had time enough to run around in the neighborhood and look for somebody to take care of the 2 children until I came home. Between 5 and 6 pm the wife gave birth to a premature Baby-Boy which is a cripple and probably will be a cripple for the rest of his life, if he survifes. The baby has an open space in his backbone and is half lame....

Now the wife and I were get slowly over that shock. Then on Saturday Dec. 26th the day after christmas in the morning came the F.B.I. again and told my wife: you pack up your things and get ready to go to Ellis-Island to wait there with the other bunch to go to camp. We are going down to Bayonne and get your husband. But when they learned of the new born baby and his condition, they told us they come back in two weeks and see if the Baby is allright to travel. If not, they check up in two more weeks and continiue that.

Mr. President, we know everybody has to carry a burden in these days, but do we have all that trouble all the time? And why take me away from my job when the country needs all skilled labor and I am willing to help?
And furthermore these continiuos excitements will soon drive me and my family crazy.

The first aim this country fights for in this war is to preserve humanity and christianity, I believe in these ideals too.

Mr. President, my 3 children are born here and I feel that they should at least have the right to grow up free and enjoy having a father and mother with them.

Mr. President, I hope and wish you have time enough to read this letter and study our case and I am sure that you will help us....Please make the coming year more happier for us. We will always remember it and remain very thankfully
and respectfully yours
There was no response from the White House. The following month the Graber family was taken to a detention facility on Ellis Island originally used to quarantine immigrants. Several weeks later, the Grabers were sent by train to a former women's prison in Seagoville, Texas. In June 1944, they were transported to another internment camp in Crystal City, twenty miles from the Mexican border. Worried about his youngest son's health, and exhausted by his family's experiences, Theodor Graber accepted the government's offer to ship him and his family to Germany, where they could live with relatives. After the war, the two eldest sons, Werner and Gunther, chose to return to the United States when they each turned eighteen. Theo and Emmy stayed in Germany with little Teddy, who died in 1948 at the age of six.
Theodor Graber and family

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An Immigrant's Plea to a Powerful Man | HistoryNet

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From the March 2008 issue: An Immigrant's Plea to a Powerful Man The plight of Japanese immigrants and Japanese American citizens interned in the 1940s is well known. But German and Italian immigrants in the United States also faced possible internment, relocation, travel restrictions, and property confiscation during World War II.

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https://www.historynet.com/a-soldier-strips-the-romance-out-of-life-at-war.htm
In this letter a soldier in WWII is writing to his friend telling her all of the reasons why she wouldn't want to be there. For example, he talks about how bad the food is and that you don't die a happy death like all of the movies.
Another thing the writer mentioned is that he is constantly scared and he tries to write about happy things calm his nerves. He wishes he was in the United States doing all of the things he hated (like going to church) because he says that everything that he hated at home is better than being at war.

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The letter is about the Christmas day that Charlie had. He was on a subchaser in the Philippines, he saw many people who were wounded and coming from battle. All the soldiers appeared to have shell shock(PTSD). They all looked a lot older than they were. Overall, CHarlie appreciated what he had at the end of the letter. The walking wounded were see in the Philippines coming off of the boats and shell shock happened after the injured came back.

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December 2007 issue: For servicemen and women far from their loved ones during war, holidays often prompt mixed emotions. Thoughts of friends and family gathered together trigger fond memories, but they can also make the troops all the more homesick. While stationed aboard a subchaser anchored near the Philippines in December 1943, a twenty-three-year-old ensign from Rhode Island, Charles Edward Sweeney, was trying to enjoy the spirit of the season as much as possible. In a letter written to a favorite cousin on Christmas Day, he explained that a sudden turn of events had caused him to forget about all he was missing and appreciate what he already had. 'Life Gave Me a Christmas Present a Couple of Hours Ago'
Dear Esther,

All morning the turkeys roasted in the oven; the cook was busy with all the fixings which we'd managed to beg, borrow or steal from other ships or from nearby Army quartermasters.

With the exception of the cook and his helpers, there wasn't much work for the rest of us to do. We were lying to in a little inlet which is described in dispatches as an "advanced base." When we first arrived here, all hands were excitedly talking of the Japanese and of air raids and of possible hand-to-hand encounters with other enemy small craft.

We'd spent much time on patrol with the ship in a state of semi-tension all the time. However, very little occurred. Most of what did happen sprang from our over-eager imaginations. The subchaser was nervous at night, particularly, and, in the darkness, engaged in nervous signaling and maneuvering with other patrolling ships. We experienced only one bona-fide air-raid during which we were at battle stations but did not have the opportunity to fire a shot.

On this Christmas morning the tension was off. Early during the morning we'd heard all kinds of rumors of the bloody fighting which was going on nearby. But we knew on this day that we would not be ordered to sea, that Christmas was ours to enjoy as best we could....

The war was so near and yet so far away. This was Christmas and there was a handsome dinner to enjoy. Nothing loomed to mar it; our minds were free because the ship had, ever since its launching, patrolled far-off and friendly waters and our imaginations were not yet colored by the real tinge of war.

It was nearly noon and time for dinner when another camouflaged ship entered the inlet, signaled us by blinker for permission to tie up alongside us, and then made a quick berth with both screws turning full. Most of us were lolling around the deck and paid little attention to the routine mooring of the other ship until it was firmly secured to our side and one of its hatches was opened and a stretcher passed topsides by two sailors who handled their burden with great care.

The soldier on the stretcher had his arm and part of his shoulder torn off. His unconscious form was limp on the canvas; his fatigue suit was torn and bloody, his young features were frozen into hard lines.

The stretcher was passed over onto our deck, carried across to the other ship and then onto the beach where there was a waiting truck, in a small dirt road which led off into the brush and to a forward evacuation hospital. As the stretcher was placed in the truck, a large white tag bearing the soldier's name, outfit, and a description of his wounds, became undone and fluttered to the road. Someone picked it up and tied it again around his ankle.

The second stretcher passed up the hatch was completely covered by a blanket, and so was the third.

Next we saw a sailor aboard the other ship reach down the hatch and help another soldier mount the ladder. He wore the familiar fatigue clothes, bowl-shaped tin helmet, and heavy boots which were unlaced. One foot followed the other mechanically. Someone helped him over the gangway to our ship and as he walked past us one of the assisting sailors said "shell shock" and we noticed the vacant look in the soldier's eyes which seemed widened by a recent horror. The man got across the inboard ship to the beach with assistance across the gangways.

Several others like him passed now. It was hard to read their ages; some looked as though they were fifty years old at nineteen; others looked as though they had been born as old men. All wore tin hats and the jungle fatigues; all clutched their rifles as they walked.

The last soldier to pass was bareheaded and he had his arms around the shoulders of the two sailors who had locked their arms under him to make a seat. The soldier's trousers were rolled up to the knees-just above where the bandages which were rolled down to and over his feet started. The last soldier seemed the youngest of them all and merely stared straight ahead as he was carried by.

We watched in complete silence while the small Army truck drove off carrying the three stretcher cases and the soldier with the wounded legs.

The "walking wounded" stood idly by on the beach. All still carried their rifles firmly. Only one sat down, exhausted....Nobody spoke for about a minute and then there were numerous questions asked of the sailors aboard the newly arrived ship. Yes, one of them said, the wounded had been in action "up there" and we all followed the sailor's eyes up the coastline where a long peninsula jutted into the sea.

Last night this bunch had caught hell, he said, and added something about a detachment being cut off and almost entirely wiped out. The ship had taken what was left of them off the beach after a sector had been regained.

Then the talking on deck stopped. The sailors on the other two ships all went below for Christmas chow. In a few minutes, our own cook stuck his head out of the galley hatchway and called "chow's down." He seemed surprised when there was no rush for choice seats at the table. He was surprised until somebody talked to him. And then we all ate a handsome and delicious dinner together, in the crew's quarters, officers and men, in almost complete silence.

That's it Esther. It happened about two hours ago and it's affected me very powerfully. My fingers actually feel leaden as I type. Yet, I feel so heavily somber that I feel I have to tell somebody and you've always been a good listener.

We've been near enough to see things like this for quite a while. But for some reason or other, hand of God I guess, we've been completely immune. It wasn't much that I saw either. It was just a little side issue, just a pebble in a sea of trouble, and all we saw were the immediate aftereffects. So, this is Christmas, and it's the saddest one I've ever known. I wish you'd keep this letter to yourself, at least, completely away from the rest of the family....

Life gave me a Christmas present a couple of hours ago; it's a gnawing appreciation of what all this means to all the people, usually the little and insignificant people, who have to go through agony. The war was personalized for me a couple of hours ago in the faces and battered figures of a handful of ruined men.

I'm sorry this had to be such a sad letter. But I just want to tell somebody and when I have something like this to tell I want to tell it to somebody close to me and who thinks and feels a lot like I do. And you've always been the closest that way.

We'll probably be moving out of here after a while. Then I'll try a cheerful and funny epistle about the heat and the bugs and the natives and how the movie cameras splutter aboard the big ships at places farther away. Until then, lots of love, Esther, and write as soon as you can.

Charlie

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Life Gave Me a Christmas Present | HistoryNet

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December 2007 issue: For servicemen and women far from their loved ones during war, holidays often prompt mixed emotions. Thoughts of friends and family gathered together trigger fond memories, but they can also make the troops all the more homesick.

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https://www.historynet.com/a-fathers-thoughts-on-the-importance-of-a-uniform.htm

It is a letter from a father to a son, preparing the son for the war and wishing him good luck and to not be afraid. He reminds him that God is on his side and that he is praying for his safety.
This letter was written to the son serving in world war ii
This letter was very heartfelt and inspiring not sorrowful

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https://www.historynet.com/a-soldiers-death-far-from-the-field-of-battle.htm
2 families sending letters to each other discussing their experinces and some of the struggles from having family members in the war.
A young pilot crash in a farm near quiency.
live in a small form town with little to no education.
our question- did the families every meet in person?