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FOX HOLE
LETTER
Written by
1st Lt. Robert L. Sickler |
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October 8, 1944
Hello Folks,
I’m writing this in a fox hole, in what I think I can safely say is the
hottest spot in Holland – and I’m making no reference to the weather. I
haven’t had my boots of since Sept 15. I am afraid that when I do take
them of my feet are going to come right off with them. But when things
do slow down long enough to warrant it I’m getting into a pair of your
socks which I’ve been carrying with me since we jumped.
As any news mag will indicate we have been support or should I say
spearheading the British drive into this sector. I’ve seen and am still
participating in action aplenty and have accumulated experiences that
would provide enough material for twenty books. Come what may I don’t
think I shall ever regret being a member of the greatest combat team in
the history of the world. This last year - the last few months in
particular have been the most interesting of my whole life and I
wouldn’t have missed it for the world. No amount of money nor any camera
could ever capture or record all of it, some of which would actually
strain your imagination. My boys have done a remarkable job and you can
guess how proud of them I am. General Gavin personally congratulated us
and when a General takes the trouble to personally commend a single
platoon you can bet your pride is justified. |
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He’s given me a blank check to fill out for promotions and citations in
the platoon and you can bet I’m not going to be bashful in getting these
boys the limit.
I just this minute received my mail among which is your letter of Sept
29. That’s what I all service. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write
sooner but circumstances just haven’t permitted it.
I think that of all the places I’ve ever been, Holland is the most
beautiful. You can’t help but love the country and its people, in spite
of the terrible devastation. These folk have suffered cruelly under the
German regime and have never forgotten that they were Dutch. The day we
jumped every loyal Dutchman wore a flower or a ribbon of bright orange
(a sign of Dutch loyalty since the days of William of Orange) . Many
paid for their display of loyalty with their lives because Germans shot
them down on sight. Liberation to these people is a very real thing and
never have I seen such a sincere display of gratitude. Many of them lost
their lives in the fighting trying to help in all kinds of little ways
and getting in the way. If I ever have a honeymoon this is the place I’d
want to spend it. There’s no such thing as a slum district here. The
poorest peasant’s home is beautiful, and clean beyond imagination. The
educational standard is also very high and it’s amazing the number of
children who speak good English as it is a required subject in all
schools. |
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The Germans are paying heavily for their crimes but there always seems
to be more no matter how many you kill. Don’t misunderstand me, they are
good soldiers and fight well, but they are fighting a battle they can’t
win. I have a great admiration and respect for the German as a solder,
but as a member of the human race I hate and detest him. They have
absolutely no compassion in their souls for anyone or anything except
their own hides. They can kill a helpless man without twitching a
muscle, but when they realize that their turn has come they squeal like
a bunch of pigs at a hog-killing. It does a man’s soul good to hear
them. I have yet to one of my boys squeal – they know how to die – I’ve
heard them grunt from the surprise and initial shock and maybe moan a
little from pain, but I’ve never heard one scream or squeal.
I’m enclosing a little German and Holland money as souvenirs – yes it
came off of dead men but they can’t spend it where they’re going. I have
quite a collection of souvenirs if I can get them home. I have a
beautiful pair of large wide vision 6 power glasses – a .25 caliber
pistol – a gold pocket watch – Schmeisser automatic pistol (German
equivalent of our Tommy gun) and a number of trinkets and German
insignia to say nothing of a small pair of genuine wooden shoes that
even smell like feet. |
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I’m sure you’d like Pat, my English girl friend. She’s 28 – neat as a
pin – has a fine sense of values – can wear clothes like nobody’s
business (kind of like Elsie) - and we have a great deal in common. I’m
thinking seriously of coming back and marrying her one of these days,
when I give my attention to personal matters again and can go to work on
having a fuller life without figuring out how best to snuff out someone
else.
Folks, I’m not being bashful when I don’t enter a request with each
letter as you suggest – it’s just that things that I need or want most
are thing you can’t send, like a bath, shave, shampoo, clean clothes and
a bottle of whiskey. When this thing is over I’m going to take a hot
bath, crawl between clean white sheets and take one long look at the
floor because I’m not going to see anything but the ceiling for about
three weeks. Then I’m going to get up, get a big steak, get drunker’n a
hooty owl and do the same thing all over again.
Whoops! Here come those screaming Meemies and 88’s again. I think I’ll
make this hole a little deeper. So long for now.
All my love,
Bob
P.S. My ducking has improved considerably since Normandy. |
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