We are working on the barracks—I truly believe that some transfer, including you, will take place within the near future, six weeks or less. I love you, Darling. If there’s anything worth doing well in this world it’s to love and adore you, my darling little wife for the rest of my days. I am a sentimental dope so far as you’re concerned and I hope and pray that you don’t tire of it. There’s a lot of sentiment against our doing any work on the barracks but I guess there are enough to control the situation. They’re worried for fear the 500 Americans in the Philippines will be jeopardized (how, I don’t know) by the action. Such lame brains. Nothing to do except talk and nothing to talk about. I positively hate some people, and there are many others with whom I can’t be more than barely civil. Rumors today: Nazi Government has quit in Germany, Sea Battle near Guam, Burma offensive under way. I hope I can see you soon. I bought you some bobby pins today.
Note: The journal ends here. Charles Mock’s wife Charmian arrived at Los Baños on December 10, 1943.
Your notes have been swell; we unloaded cement and stone today, I hope you get here soon. Why can’t I just let myself go and pour out the ideas that are within me. Someday—right now I love you.
Darling I’ve never lost track of the months, almost five of them. There’s a possibility that things may begin to percolate soon. No rain today for a change—the truck arrived with wire for the barracks and I guess other materials are available for the completion of 10 of them. I really hope and expect I’ll see you in month or so. There are rumors of married women coming up first, but I’m rather skeptical about it. I’d like to see you included but I’m not going to do anything that might embarrass you. I don’t mean that exactly, embarrass isn’t the proper word—well ask me about it sometime and I’ll tell you. I know you’re included on the list from here and I’m praying that all who desire may come up when the time comes.
Things are going on and I don’t know whether they’re going to ship the married men back to Santo Tomás or not. I’m going to try and get the straight of it tomorrow, although I doubt if anyone has the true facts. I heard positively today that we’re to have a new Commandant and another less authentic matter regarding repatriation. I wouldn’t mention except for the source—four ships on the way to take us home. There’s still nothing going on in the barracks. I’m sick and tired of the whole mess. I love you Damn it, the years are going by—here I am 35 years old and hoping that next 50 holds more than I’ve been willing to believe possible. So it goes—When will we have a chance?
Two years ago, just about now I was pleased to note that you didn’t have a ring on your left third finger. You may doubt that but it’s a fact. What years they have been and I hope we never experience anything like them again. I realized for a moment how insensible this interment has made me. The bus with the fortunate repatriates was leaving, there was much cheering and the victrola was playing God Bless America (I think it’s far and away the least desirable of our songs) and yet I felt the tears ready to well up and I could have thrown myself on the grass and bawled like a baby. This is really a terrible strain and I can’t imagine what the reaction will be when we see American forces and hear the Star Spangled Banner again (I’m practically weeping now).
Today has certainly been the day of days with the Tribune coming with the surrender of Badaglio and Italy to the Anglo-Americans. Steve and I celebrated with two cups of coffee this morning and my luck continued so he paid for the works.
The kitchen has been reorganized and the chow has improved, not so much in content as preparation. Still beans or rice at noon but omelet, potato salad, rice and tea tonight. There’s still nothing being done about the barracks and I’m more convinced with every passing day that your arrival will not be soon if ever. I want to see you terribly.
Not much new since Thursday—the camp kitchen has moved to the new barracks kitchen, John, Rus, Dan Hume and Jack Chapman were notified yesterday that they were to be repatriated. Sort of silly to call it repatriation in Chapman’s case, he’s never been to the States. Some of the boys, particularly those with families in the States, are rather bitter about it. Jack was so excited that he couldn’t sleep last night.
The first meeting of Los Baños Ins. Inst. at 3:30 PM today and Mr. Stubs held forth on Marine Insurance. About 12 attended and I guess we’ll continue for a while anyway.
“Carabao sweat” has been rechristened “Churchill’s broth” –blood, sweat and tears.
[Mock’s price list]