Edward Mintz | Diary | 80th Fighter Group

*Diary of a Paddle-Foot

Capt. Edward J. Mintz, 90th Fighter Squadron,

80th Fighter Group and Headquarters Tenth Air Force

30 April 1943 - May 1945

Friday, 30 April 1943

Our bags were packed and waiting but there had been so many postponements and delays we only half believed that this was to be the day when we were to move at last from Santini (Mitchel Field, L.I.) to Camp Kilmer, N.J., our final overseas, staging area. We were engaged in the usual poker game when someone yelled, “Trucks are here.”

We dropped the cards, ran out and piled into the trucks which drove us to the railroad siding near Mitchel Field. A slight rain was falling. The 80th Fighter Group filled the 13 car train. We were greatly relieved when it started to move. After too many weeks of just sitting around, at last we were on our way. We resumed our poker game. I managed to lose #30.00 by the time we reached Kilmer.

R.H.I.P (Rank Has Its Privileges). Captains (the highest ranking officers in our squadron)rate a private room here. To mine, on the second floor, I hauled my baggage—footlocker, flight bag, bedding roll, and musette bag.

After being away from my good wife for only 14 hour, I know how much I’ll miss her in the days to come. Last night we saw “Mission to Moscow” and had a few drinks at Kelly’s stable. “This might be our last night together,” I thought dramatically, “I should be having a good time.” But somehow I wasn’t.

Tonight there are movies and the inevitable poker, but I had had but two hours of sleep after celebrating with Dot last night so I hit the sack early.

Saturday, 1 May

The wind howled a savage symphony last night and I twice got up to put on more blankets.

For us Intelligence officers there was a lecture which we are to pass on to our units. Because of the submarine menace, security violation my cost us our necks this time and we are properly impressed—but the reason behind some of the regulations is not readily apparent. For example, we are not to tell anyone where we are stationed thought the post exchange sells postcards and matches carrying the Camp Kilmer imprint and we hear that money orders sent from here carry the Camp Kilmer post office stamp.

My assistant, Lt. Charlie Williams, and I started censoring the enlisted men’s mail. They are following instructions. The only thing we had to cut out were the “X’s” for kisses (we were warned these might be used for a code).

The consumption of a bottle and a half of Scotch improved the night’s poker game.

Sunday, 2 May

We waited hopefully for our Group C.O.’s announcement that we were to be allowed out of the camp on over-night passes. But Major Evans told us instead that we were to restrict the noise we made at night to a muffled roar and to limit to reasonable figures the size of our gambling stakes.

We’ve started a soft-ball “league”. We won our first game from the 89th.

Monday, 3 May

We went through the gas chamber to test our gas masks. We emerged from the chamber and took off our masks. But the gas clung to our clothing as we tearfully assured each other that our masks were O.K.

We played the Group Headquarters team this afternoon. Particularly our enlisted me, appreciated the opportunity to heckle and boo the “Group Snoops”*—Majors Evans, Terry, Worsham, et al.

We were issued mosquito nets. I bought a rain coat at the commissary. India has heavy rains, we hear.

Under the flap of one of the enlisted men’s letters we were censoring was written “S.W.A.K”—which was probably supposed to stand for “Sealed With A Kiss.” Very inappropriate, we thought, for it like the others we were sealing with a dirty old rag.

Tuesday, 4 May

Our foot-lockers hadn’t been stenciled right and we didn’t know whether we’d get an overnight pass or all have to stay in to make the necessary corrections. We were eating sandwiches at the PX when someone yelled to tell us we could go out on pass. We dashed out of the PX and aught a cab. Ninety-five minutes later I was having dinner with Dot. The steaks tasted particularly good even after so short a stretch of G.I. food.

After dinner we went to the Casbah, of 59th St.—off Central Park, for what may be our last date for the duration. It’s an elegant place whose beauty palls before the evening is over unlike Dorothy whose beauty has never diminished. At a little after midnight, just as we were about to leave, a high cheekbones, light brown haired chanteuse, in a white satin bare midriff dress, started to sing “Love for Sale” in a hauntingly appealing voice

Wednesday, 5 May

Somehow nothing seemed as important today as leaving Dot. I was actually impatient to get back to my squadron this morning but I remember now the sweetness of her good-bye kiss and I may remember it more and more as the days go by.

Most of the day we censored enlisted men’s mail. Williams and I, as Intelligence officer, are in charge of the censoring, but we can usually get volunteers of from one to a dozen other officers. Some of the letters are very well and intelligently written, much is mediocre to poor. Some of the toughest sergeants write the damndest most tender letters. Sergeant Berg, for example, who pitched and beat the officer’ team writes his girl that he would have shut them out if he hadn’t been thinking of her and unable to concentrate on the game.

Thursday, 6 May

Finally! At long last, this is it! We were alerted this morning. The outfit is now hotter than hot. No more passes, no more telegrams or phone calls to outside of the post. An advance delegation will go to the Port of Embarkation Saturday and we’ll probably hit that boat on Sunday.

At noon, Major Evans called all the officers together and proceeded to give us an “eating out” because some of the officers had been caught making outside calls after we were alerted.

At nights there was a “dreeben fogged and zebec zone” (liquor and cokes) party. It ended up at the officer’s club where a dance was going on, with the hostesses neighborhood girls brought in by regular busses that picked them up.

Friday, 7 May

Our final physical check-up, and the shortest I’ve ever seen. All the usual remarks were made. They didn’t test your eyes, they counted them. If you could cough, you were O.K. I could and was.

Our footlockers and bedding rolls went out yesterday bound for our ship. You keep buying odds and ends and wonder whether they will all fit into your flight bag.

With other means of communication to the outside world shut off, the volume of outgoing mail is growing heavier and heavier. We’re having to cut out all reference to the fact that we’re alerted, even though this mail won’t be delivered to our families until we’re on the high seas.

Major Bledsoe called to tell me that for tomorrow and the next day, we will also censor the mail of Headquarter E.M Group always seems to be able to find “chicken” details for the squadrons to perform.

Social Calendar: Poker, drinking, officers club dance, sacking. I sacked.

Saturday, 8 May

The advance detail left early this morning. Conversation reported overheard in the PX barber shop.

Barber to G.I., “What do you want on your head?”

G.I., “Just a little hair, please.”

Squadron C.C, Captain Powell (looking up from “Time” magazine), “By the time we get through whittling down all of our enemies there wound’t be much left of our own Army.” When someone gulped, he used the classic, “You don’t want to live forever, do you?”

Lt. Simon (Radar officer, who usually waxes enthusiastic only on his specialty), “There’s a very secret submarine radar device that can detect subs over a surface 100 miles lone, tee miles wide, and down to any depth. It’s so precise few manufacturers can make it, and we have a shortage, though we do have trained operators who are being sent to England to operate from there.”

A letter from Dot and a card from mother—maybe the last I’ll get from them in a long time.

Pilot Pedersen got so drunk and belligerent, “Coc” Zwerner had to give him a “knock-out” drink to put him to sleep.

Sunday, 9 May

Mothers Day. We were able to send flowers to our families through Western Union. At night, after chow, we got into formation and, carrying 50 pounds of equipment on our back, we marched towards the train. As we approached the train, a snappy 15 piece Camp Kilmer band went into action with some lively music. Steps lagging under the unaccustomed load started to move with a new briskness and swing. A strong emotion of pride and exultation filled us.

At 2130 our train left Kilmer. At 2400 we were on the ferry taking us from the Jersey show to our N.Y. Port of Embarkation. On the ferry, I sank down near a garbage can, for the walk from the train to the ferry, carrying our overloaded flight bag and field equipment, had been grueling.

In New York, just before we climbed up the game plank, we had one hot coffee from the Grey Ladies of the Red Cross and it tasted mighty good.

Our rooms were a pleasant revelation. Capt. Bill Lackland and I had a bunk with private shower which didn’t work and a toilet which, fortunately, did. When we turned in it was about 2 A.M. We were on the MAURETANIA, a fast English former “luxury cruiser.”

Monday, 10 May

It was awfully dark and it seemed as though we had just closed our eyes when an English voice called into our cabin that it was 7:20.

After a typically English breakfast, our English Staff Captain spoke to us on deck about ship regulations and proceeding to our battle and emergency stations during boat drills. We were told we had a long journey ahead and that we must conserve our water supply. At 9:30 we had our first boat drill wearing the life jackets which we are to wear on all future drills.

At 1030, our ship left its Pier #57 at @. 14th Street, N.Y. , and a few minutes later, we were waving to the Statue of Liberty and wondering vocally when we were to see the Lady again.

There are 18 American nurses aboard and the “operators” among our officers lost no time in meeting them. A few were in our cabin for a prepunch Scotch.

We’ve learned that we’re on a fast ship. We’re not much worried about the subs though we may be in dangerous waters in about a week when we round S. Africa. We hear we’re to go to Rio de Janeiro, Capetown, and Bombay.

Tuesday, 11 May

Compared to the relative luxury of the officers quarter, those of the enlisted men are very poor and crowded. They occupy the lower decks, and sleep in hammocks practically right on top of each other. They have bugs, cockroaches, far too few latrines. Yet as bad as it is, the enlisted men of the 90th are getting some satisfaction out of the fact that the accommodations for the 88th and 89th are even worse. There is bitching of course, but with their customary ingenuity and adaptability they will make the most of a bad situation.

So far, the crossing has been as smooth as the Staten Island ferry, but a few of the officers and men have already been sea-sick.

We are going south and the air is getting perceptibly warmer. There is a little rain this morning. This is one ocean trip we’d prefer to be cloudy all the way if it will keep away the subs (about which, incidentally, we’re feeling little concern right now, although you do wonder about them occasionally).

Because of the necessity of conserving our water supply, there’s no fresh water at all in the bathtub or shower and it’s turned on for our sink only a couple of hours each day. You can, however, take a salt water bath, using a special type of soap provided.

Had our first atabrine pill today—taking one after breakfast. Part of the personnel on board didn’t get the pills which led to speculation that they might be going to different locale. Officers and enlisted men started wearing khaki.

I refused an offer of $10 for a bottle of my Scotch.

Played piker this evening with Major Bledsoe, Lt. Ellis (who taught me Military Law at O.T.S, Miami), and some other officers.

Before turning in I went up to the darkened deck. I reflected moodily that this was a helluva place to be spending my second wedding anniversary.

Wednesday, 12 May

The officers of our unit are to take a four hour turn of duty in the E.M.’s quarter’s. I had mine from 8 A.M. to 12 A.M. Even four hours was tiring. Forty days (or even 30) will be rough on those boys but we’ll all probably be in lots worse places before the war is over. Their hammocks are now so close together, as one sergeant remarked, when the boat sways, they don’t. The tables are considered superior to the hammocks, and are reserved for lucky sergeants. (incidentally, these are the same tables the men eat on). One Pfc. bitterly complained because he had been chased in the middle of the night from the shower room in which he had been sleeping. The portholes had to be closed this morning, which was no help to the already very poor ventilation.

The British naval officers parade around in cool white shirts and shorts while we sweat in our khakis. One officer looked familiar. I spoke to him and, sure enough he was a British doctor I met through George Trainer four years ago in New York. He is the ship doctor and his name is Brown. He has been on the MAURETANIA for four years. In all that time he has never even seen a sub nor heard a gun fired in combat. But he was unhappy because he has had only five days leave in four years.

While having dinner this evening it was announced that Von Arnim and 150,—- Germans had been captured and organized German resistance in N. Africa had ceased. Everyone applauded heartily.

Thursday, 13 May

It started raining during the day and tonight, as I turned in at 2230, it’s still raining. It’s been rougher, hotter, and more humid than any previous part of our trip. Eight nurses were sick.

The sundeck is reserved for officers, the promenade deck for the enlisted men. We started taking calisthenics this morning. Walking, deck tennis, shuffle board and poker, continue as the chief diversions, though this evening the officers saw “Desert Victory” while a musical show, using local talent, was put on for the enlisted men. Further entertainment is promised. In addition, reading matter is to be made available.

The food and service in the officers’ dining room continue to be excellent. This may be our last good eating for a long time.

“Handbook to India” was distributed to some of the personnel but not to our Group.

Because of the rough weather, for the first time since we left New York, there was no boat drill.

I felt like walking in the rain. I buttoned up my raincoat, took one turn on deck and got thoroughly soaked. Opened another bottle of Scotch. Nothing like guarding against a cold.

Friday, 14 May

Today was even warmer. Played some hard sets of deck tennis, took a salt water bath to cool off, but it didn’t do much good.

“Handbook to India” was distributed to our Group.

Poker before dinner. In the evening, we saw the one hour variety show which the E.M. saw yesterday. The performers were all officers and enlisted men. Though hastilyWhipped together it was one of the best variety shows I’ve seen—better by far than any I saw in New York. There was an excellent Sergeant magician who used to perform at clubs like the Versailles in N.Y., a very entertaining Lieutenant master of ceremonies, a first rate five piece orchestra including Lts. Clower and MacMillan, 89th fighter pilots, drummer and saxophonist respectively, and three enlisted men (all of whom harmonized very well together) and an enlisted men’s glee club, whose voices were truly inspiring.

After the show, a cool lime drink at the bar (only a nickel and wonderfully refreshing) and then a promenade on deck with a nurse as companion. This time it was a blonde from Minnesota, who told me we would become pollywogs by crossing the equator.

Sports, sunshine, leisure, entertainment, poker with genial friends—I like this life!

Saturday, 15 May

This morning we arrived at Trinidad, one of the bases acquired from the British on the old destroyer deal. We were in port all day, getting oil, water, and probably other provisions from tankers that drew up alongside. We weren’t allowed to go ashore but from our deck we could see the green, gently rolling hills of what seemed a very peaceful little island. At dinner, this evening the ship’s captain, relieved temporarily of the responsibility of piloting his verses, had dinner in our main dining room for the first time since the trip began.

One of our corporals thought he’d take advantage of our docking to mail two letters which he game to a seaman to post for him. Somehow they were intercepted. The ships security officer, a Lt. Colonel, called in our Squadron Commander, the C.O. sent for me, and I sent for the corporal. I warned him he could be court martially for his offense. He was thoroughly frightened. I then called together all of the squadron to instruct them to hold all mail until we reached our ultimate destination.

Sunday, 16 May

Up at 8:30 to find that our ship had left Trinidad five hours ago.

It rained all afternoon but it cleared tonight and the moon and stars were out. I had lugged a small victrola all the way from Santini. I brought it up on deck and while the boys of our squadron gathered round we played records, sang, and danced with the one available nurse.

Monday, 17 May

At the boat drill today we were told that hereafter we must wear our head covering and carry our canteens when there was a call to emergency boat stations.

I was squadron alert officer on duty in our enlisted men’s “hole” from 8 PM until midnight. Shortly after I went on duty, the men started putting up their hammocks while the more favored ones stretched out on the tables and floor. By 10 PM the section was packed leaving no room for some 14 men who had hoped to sleep on deck but had been chased down. Part of those 14 were allowed to sleep in the hallway, keeping the passageways clear, however, and the rest just resigned themselves to sitting all night on their barracks bags. I had to wake up those who had gone to sleep with their clothes on because of an order that all were to undress. Some of the men, on being awaked, took it with a good humor, others muttered, grumbled, and swore. One said, “My Dad once shipped some cattle this way. By the time they arrived, most had died.”

Some babbled of long, cool Tom Collin’s and babes in Jackson Heights. You heard all kinds of rumors. One said a soldier had died of sunstroke on deck and had been tossed overboard. Another said there’d be a funeral on board tomorrow. One gripe, probably unfounded, was that the “limey” never put more than 2,000 of their soldiers on board in accommodations occupied by 6,000 of our troops.

At midnight, when I came off duty, I put my watch ahead 30 minutes.

After the heat of the hole, it was clean and cool on deck. I stood there for a half an hour, watching the ocean and having long, deep thoughts.

Tuesday, 18 May

Usually, in the morning, a very British voice calls into our cabin, “It’s twenty after sev-en,” preparing us to get up at 8:15 for breakfast at 8:30. We don’t shave in the morning but usually before dinner at night. Some of the pilots of the 88th and 89th, particularly Captains Leukring and Webb, haven’t shaved since Kilmer and have fierce looking beards. Most have their hair clipped very short.

This morning I was paged on deck. The soldier messenger told me I was to report to the orderly room at once. “What have I done now?” I wondered.

I was told that the executive officer of the ship, a Colonel Guthrie (a harsh old geezer who was reported to eat Air Corps officers for breakfast) personally wanted to see me. He wasn’t in and I was kept in suspense until late in the afternoon. All he wanted was to return to me the letters that our impatient enlisted man had tried to mail at Trinidad.

I washed underwear, socks, handkerchiefs, and one pair of pants this afternoon.

We are probably below the equator though exactly when we passed it seems to be a secret. Most of our information on where our ship is at any time or where it is going comes from our English waiter.

Wednesday, 19 May

Into the barroom where most of the card games go on walked an officer of the Provost Marshall’s office. “At ease, men,” he said, “There will be no more gambling on this ship other than in your stateroom.”

There has been a lot of gambling on board. Our Eagle Squadron Lieutenant Haynes dropped over $200 in a few minutes shooting crap the other evening (leaving him with only $2 until the next pay day—whenever that will be). Some are grumbling that a better solution might have been to insist on the reducing of stakes. As it is, one of our principal sources of amusement has been practically eliminated.

My table companions are Captains Abbott and Kale, Field Artillery, and Thaler, Chemical Warfare. They are not traveling with their unit but as part of a group of “casual” officers. I realized in talking with them how fortunate I was to be traveling with my own unit rather than plucked out and sent over with strangers.

We were instructed to again set our clocks one-half hour ahead at midnight.

Thursday, 20 May

This AM for the first time the guns on our ship were tested. They made a helluva racket as the AA tracers rose gracefully up to the sky.

The ship’s library stocked with books contributed by the American public in recent drives is very popular. I just finished Adler’s “How to Read a Book” (which made me feel a little guilty about all the “soft” reading Ive been doing recently) and am starting Professor Edman’s enjoyable “Philosopher’s Holiday.”

There is talk that some of the officers might be able to get off at Rio, but it is doubtful.

We had the victrola on deck again tonight and we provided more or less close harmony.

Friday, 21 May

After lunch today, I went to a small, informal Hindustani language class, which is being conducted by a Major John Mott, who spend some years living in India after the last war. Attending the class were three Lt. Colones and another Captain. Words and phrases were pronounced on the victrola, we followed in our handbooks on India and repronounced the words. The whole language lesson is contained on two large victrola records.

At 4 PM I went on duty with our men on C deck. There was a boat drill. Because of congestion caused by those moving from the upper decks it took almost ten minutes before we could even start to move up.

The food served the men is not as good as the officers get or as good as the men were getting at Kilmer, but is probably healthy enough. Morale has improved not that part of the men may sleep on deck at night. Their principal difficulty now is keeping their weapons from rusting.

Another beautiful, moonlight night filled with stars, including the Southern Cross.

Saturday, 22 May

This evening on deck I talked for an hour with the British ship’s engineer and two other members of the crew about New York, San Francisco, Bombay, liquor, and German propaganda. Normally, British crew members get a regular liquor ration. But they are no longer given this ration when American troops are aboard because the stewards used to sell liquor to the Americans at exorbitant prices. On a previous trip, crew members kept bringing aboard baskets of fruit in which bottles of liquor were hidden until one sailor was stopped and a bottle of liquor found under the fruit he was carrying. He was told he couldn’t come aboard with the bottle but he asked for and was given permission to drink it before coming aboard. He disappeared for a half hour and when he returned again to the gangplank he was asked, “Did you finish the bottle”
The sailor pointed to his stomach where the bottle was being concealed in his trousers and said, “All my liquor is right in here.”

He was told to pass on to the ship.

I was told that the Mauritania had been reported sunk by the Germans on four occasions; the British were most amused with the repeated German allegation of sinking of H.M.S.________________, a naval land base.

Sunday, 23 May

At our language class each day, Major Mott tells us about India. He mentioned that when eating or when handing things to an Indian, always use your right hand because your left hand is considered unclean. India, during peacetime, was a sportsman’s paradise with abundant fishing and hunting, including “pig sticking.” In hunting for tigers, it was customary to have hundreds of beaters “beat” the woods or jungle in such a way that the tiger would be directed within range of the hunter.

Major Mott told me that an assignment to a place like India or Burma represented both a problem and an opportunity for our Group. The problem particularly in Burma was disease, especially malaria’ that he had seen some figures on malarial incidence among troops in Burma and it was appallingly high. The opportunity lies in the fact that with comparatively few unit in the theater we had a better chance for making a name for ourselves, and that the importance of Burma, of course, was that through it, over the road, was the only land route to China.

At 1400 we had our first general meeting since the ship left New York, of all officers on board. We were told that no army personnel would be getting off at Rio de Janeiro but we would get off at the next port, and that twice matches had been lit on the deck after blackout. If this happened again we are told, we would not be allowed to go on deck at night.

In order to be up to catch an early view of Rio, I brought some blankets up from below and went to sleep on deck for the first time.

Monday, 24 May

I got up and went to the rail at 0330 and 0530, but as far as the eye could see there was still ocean, ocean, and more ocean. Finally at 0600, standing with a British officer, I saw land. He said we had been circling around since midnight but we couldn’t come in and anchor in Rio harbor until instructions were received this morning. He was disturbed because no planes had come out to meet us and spoke of the possibility of subs being beneath the harbor. All military personnel were ordered below as the ship approached the harbor but we were allowed on deck again at 0800. We saw a beautiful harbor, with white buildings, palm trees, an air field, and Sugar Loaf Mountain still covered with a haze. Two P.T. 19’s flew over and did acrobatics: Chandelles, Split S’s and Lazy 8’s. As the haze lifted we could see more clearly the buildings and surrounding mountains. For so large a harbor there seemed little activity other than ferry boats which continued to go back and forth all day filled with people while our ship lay at anchor. Shell Oil tankers (as at Trinidad) and other small boats brought us oil, water, and food. To allow the washing of clothes, water was allowed on all day, and there was much furious scrubbing of drawers, socks, skirts, and other items of apparel which were soon fluttering from hastily constructed clothes lines.

At night, when the lights went on in Rio, the city look much like a bridge less San Francisco. A large hotel with its roof lighted might have been the “Top of the Mark Hopkins” overlooking Telegraph Hill.

The bartender who dispenses cokes and other non-alcoholic drinks at the bar told us that someone on board paid $30 for a quart of rye whiskey last night, which was a far cry from the pre-war days when a double Scotch across the bar sold for 25 cents. Those days were filled with a special kind of anger, he said, because most of the crew members most of the time were too drunk to know what they were doing.

Because my neck and back had broken out a bit, probably from heat rash, I got from the ship’s dispensary some sulfadiazine salve which I applied before going to bed.

Tuesday, 25 May

We left Rio harbor a little after 1600 hours. Since we couldn’t go ashore we were anxious to be on our way though it has been lazy and peaceful being at anchor in the harbor. Just as our ship moved past Sugar Loaf Mountain and past the fort guarding the harbor, a Brazilian destroyer moved alongside and accompanied us for a short distance. Among the airplanes flying overhead and on the Rio airfield were some JU 52’s and JU88’s, German aircraft which had been taken over by Brazil when she declared war after a few of the ships had been sunk by the Germans right outside of this harbor.

Some of these pilots will bet on anything. Lt. Jenkins won $20 from Morgan for doing 100 push-ups in less than 20 minutes—then Capt. Powell set a new record by doing 100 in just over 9 minutes.

Featured in the new variety show put on tonight were two nurses who acted as “straight men” for most of the jokes, an ex-Ripley human torch and pin cushion and an original composition “The Mauretania Stomp” in which the cornets used steel helmets instead of derbies.

Wednesday, 26 May

After the show tonight the G.I. orchestra’s pianist, drummer, saxophonist and trombone player got together for another jam session. It was hard to remember we were on the high seas, thousands of miles from home; it seemed like 52nd Street.

We turned our clocks ahead an hour again tonight and will continue to do so through Sunday when we will be six hours ahead of New York. The last two nights have been chillier. I wore a flight jacket on deck tonight. There are millions of stars but it is dark without a moon. The waves showed a phosphorescent light.

Thursday, 27 May

Today, for the first time since our trip began, the sun failed to shine. The air was cooler, the water rougher and some rain fell.

In the evening the ship’s staff Captain who has sailed the seas for 42 years lectured us on how a ship navigates.

We’ve had a new waiter since yesterday. Our old waiter, one of the others informed us, is sick, “with a boil on his bottom.”

Friday, 28 May

Lt. Col. Llewellyn, the British liaison officer on board, spoke to us about the Union of south Africa at whose port of Capetown (probably) or Durban we will stop and have a chance to visit. He stated that nowhere in the world would you find such a diversion of nationalities’ Dutch, German, British, native black, and many half-breeds. Historically this was caused by Dutch, Germans, and British establishing refueling and reprovisioning ports in South Africa en route to India. The discovery of gold and diamonds in S. Africa intensified the struggle for ports. Today, the Union of South Africa is an independent commonwealth nowhere, according to the Colonel, do the people of different nations live more happily together. They have made important war contributions and sacrifices and their hospitality towards our soldiers, 7,000 of whom have been disembarking monthly at Capetown alone since the war began, has never diminished. The eyes of the audience glistened when he told of the excellent wines, beer, gin and brandy made in S. Africa. Then moving pictures on Africa and India were shown.

Saturday, 29 May

By far the days biggest event was the showing of “Maisie Was a Lady” in the officers’ lounge this evening. What matter if it were an old print (vintage circa 1939). Somehow, on board ship in the middle of an ocean, it brought us a visible reminder of some of the things we were leaving behind—and we enjoyed it more than ever.

The ship really started to roll and rock today. Little partitions were set up along the edge of our dining room tables to prevent soup and other edibles from slipping off into our laps.

No moon again and fewer stars, which you had to look hard to find.

Sunday, 30 May

On board ship today there were Memorial Day services for the dead of this and past wars.

Monday, 31 May

Plans were made for our debarking at Capetown tomorrow. We were told that the native shares (brothels) were not only disease ridden but also dens of subversive activity.

The ship’s wireless operator told me of the German and Italian prisoners the MAURETANIA had hauled to San Francisco on a recent trip. The Germans gave him the creeps because younger knew what they were up to. Many were found with home made knives, which they had made on the sly. Captured with the German prisoners were Poles who were used to guard their ex-captors and who had to be constantly reminded not to prod the Nazis with their bayonets. The “Eyeties” were role model prisoners who could be trusted to paint and fix things aboard ship without supervision.

From late this afternoon, a destroyer about 900 yards ahead of our port bow has been escorting us.

Tuesday, 1 June

Today at 1500 we docked at Capetown. After the seeming inactivity of Rio this seemed a busy, thriving port with ships going and coming (including a destroyer, at the sight of whose Old Glory, hearty cheers went up from our men on deck). From our rail we watched, fascinated, trains entering and leaving a depot, autos speeding along a highway, smoke coming from many chimneys. A woman in British uniform stopping her truck at the dock got a hearty ovation. Native blacks, gathered along the dock, were a principal source of attraction. Our soldiers stood them coins, bags of candy, cigarettes, even contraceptives (“Houses are out of bounds. We can’t use them anyway,” one soldier yelled. An old sergeant called back, “You may be paying a buck apiece for those things before this war is over.”) The rail was crowded on the port side near the dock where the people were. The other, starboard side, from which you could get a beautiful view of rugged cliffs and beautiful Table Mountain, was deserted.

One of the most welcome sights was a jeep flying an American flag. It arrived just as our ship docked, out of it climbed an American master sergeant and two British officers. The sergeant, we later learned, constituted a large part of the American forces stationed in Capetown. He was from the Finance office and assisted in changing our American dollars into S. African pounds and shillings. I was given the job of changing currency for my squadron. Within an hour I collected $1153 for which I received in S. African currency (since the rate of exchange was $4.035 for one pound) 190 one pound notes, 101 one-half pound notes, 392 two shilling pieces, 300 one shining pieces, one sixpence, one threepence, one tuppence. At 2230 I distributed by last tuppence ending what seemed like a long career as a foreign exchange bank to find myself only 5 shillings short. No sooner had the new currency been passed out when someone said, “Shoot a shilling,” and a new crap game was born.

The crew and field grade officers were allowed to go ashore this evening (which most of the other officers thought, in the words of Lt. Wright, a non-reverent minister’s son, was “plenty chicken”).

Wednesday, 2 June

Today we saw Capetown. Our passes read from 12 to 6 PM but there was the usual waiting in line and it was 1230 by the time we walked down the gangplank and our feet touched land again for the first time since leaving New York, 22 days ago. A cab at the dock took us to Del Monico’s, Capetown’s largest and most famous restaurant. Both floors of this huge place were filled with a variety of many-hued peoples and uniforms. We walked over multi-colored rubber carpets and found seats at a table on the second floor. Our dark-skinned waiters were turbaned and bare footed. All of our boys were ordering Scotch or rye highballs, steak and ships, milk and ice cream. After a brandy, I felt like having something exotic and ordered crawfish; then I reverted to Americanese and had ice cream for dessert.

The civilians in the restaurant just seemed to exude friendliness and cordiality toward us. A South African, sitting at an adjoining table volunteered to drive us around and show us the city, stating that he had saved some ration coupons for just such a purpose. We made an appointment to see him later in the afternoon. All the hotels seemed to be filled. We finally found a liquor store which took care of our requirements and didn’t insist on our first turning in empty bottles. We met our S. African at 3 PM and he drove us to Chapman’s Point, which is near the tip of S.Africa where the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet. It was a beautiful, rugged view. The rock formation reminded me of our own Grand Canyon.

On the way back to town we stopped off at “Honeymoon Lodge” where Mr. Collins and Capt. Kale had tea while the rest of us experimented successfully with S. African beer. Our colored waiter was not too expeditious in handling our order and Mr. Collins glared at him venomously. (All the bars in town are marked “For Europeans” of “For Non-Europeans.” The former are exclusively for the whites, the latter, for colored, to whom it is a crime for the whites to speak except under certain circumstances, we have been told).

We returned to town and to the liquor store where we had left our purchases. The young lady clerk (who had earlier in the day made numerous phone calls in a vain attempt to find us a hotel room) showed us how to pack our 5 quarts and 9 pints of rum and brandy, putting most of them under two bags of fruit we had purchased and the remainder in my pockets and those of the raincoat I was carrying.

New the gangplank, a Colonel friend remarked on the bulkiness of my rain coat, but the guard (who had carefully searched the enlisted man in front of me) passed me on with a wave of his hand. As soon as we had returned to the ship we ere told we had all been invited and could go to a dance at Calvin Grove, which was reputed to be “the best dance hall south of the equator,” we turned right around, got a new pass, left the ship at 1800, taxied into town for steaks and ice cream and then, through a dense blackout, out to the Grove. There was a tremendous floor and hundreds of available feminine partners—but I had to leave at 1045 to be back on the ship at 1130. One tall, statuesque blonde, Disa Kemp, was particularly attractive—and Lt. Bulkeley and I arranged to visit her tomorrow.

Thursday, 3 June

Using a bucket I filled my bathtub with water from my sink—thus obtaining my first fresh water bath since leaving the States. Since the ship is in the harbor, the use of water is less restricted.

It was “Ascension Day” in Capetown so the stores were all closed. Buck and I rode out to one of the suburbs of Capetown late in the afternoon to visit Disa. She, her father, mother, and sister live in quite a modern “flat”, with furnishing similar to those found in the States—radio, sofa, easy chairs, etc. In much of their furniture they use a native wood called “stinkwood”, which resembles mahogany. Some of their chairs had bottoms of leather strips. The mother and sister were ill with colds but the grandfather, hale and hearty at 78, washer with a rich Scotch burr tho he had left Scotland 50 years ago to come to Capetown as a British government employee. Disa’s brother is with the South African First Division (which had 26,000 casualties at El Alamein) and her brother-in-law was killed in action in 1940. Her father was assistant transportation chief in Capetown. Altogether, they are a very warm-hearted and genial family.

In the evening we dined, wined, and danced at theGrove. No liquor was sold after 10 PM and all on the table must be disposed of by 1030 PM.

Riding back to town on the green, leather upholstered train, we met Lts. Wright and Weller who told us how, earlier in the day, they were walking down one of the streets in Capetown, when a car stopped and two elderly ladies invited them to their home for dinner. They were taken to a beautiful home, given a bountiful repast—and there were even two beautiful grandchildren.

Friday, 4 June

When our ship was scheduled to leave port shortly after noon it was discovered that Major Terry and Captain Leuhring, 80th Gp. Executive Officer and Squadron Commander, respectively, were not aboard. Finally Group Commander, Major Evans, got permission to go into town in a jeep—and brought back the missing officers from an apartment where they had spent the night. One enlisted man, who had joined the Group at Kilmer, was still missing when the ship finally left Capetown at 1420—so all in all our Group is “in the doghouse” again with the Quartermaster Ship Commander.

After our ship circled around a few times to test its range and direction finding equipment it headed toward the Indian Ocean, which we were scheduled to reach by late afternoon.

Saturday, 5 June

At a Squadron meeting at 0930, we were told that by Group order no liquor was to be kept in our rooms. All liquor in our rooms by noon today was to be turned in and presumably thrown overboard. Since the regulation does not apply to those outside our Group I gave my remaining few quarts of liquor to Captain Abbott.

At 1000 hours there was a Group meeting for all our officers. Major Evans outlined his army career (mentioning that he never wanted to be a Group Commander—but only Squadron C.O. of the 89th) and asked for cooperation. It seems that some of the Group have been behaving badly—particularly at Capetown. One of the more heinous offenses involved Capt. Leuhring, Squadron C.O of the 89th, drawing his gun on some of the British crew after some derogatory Anglo-American remarks.

The oldest officer in the Group, Major Brown, was reported confined to his room by Major Evans, after getting roaring drunk by attempting to drink up all of his liquor before noon.

My cold persisted, so today for the first time since our trip began, I didn’t go on deck. I spend=t the day in bed after getting some medicine from the dispensary. I went without lunch but had some supper served in my room. I hear I missed a steak dinner by being in bed—and a movie “Mortal Storm.”

Sunday, 6 June

Stayed in the room, nursing my cold most of the day. In the afternoon, when I went on deck for the first boat drill since leaving Capetown, the skies were still grey, the air cold.

This PM at an Air Force Code Commanders meeting, Major Evans promised that if any of his men were caught with even a hint of liquor on their breath, they would be court martially. I wonder.

Everyone (except probably the Captain and maybe the crew) is puzzled why we have been going due east and south east rather than north east and wonders where our next port will be.

I enjoyed the movie “Mortal Storm” until a call of nature caused me to hurriedly leave—my first touch of the “G.I.’s”

Capt. Edward J. Mintz, 80th Fighter Group

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