OPA policies due to change
Rationing, price fixing to be localized
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U.S. gun crews keep firing until tanks run over them
Unidentified group of artillerymen nominated to military hall of fame for Tunisian action
By Phil Ault, United Press staff writer
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Allies storm Buna Mission
Infantry advances behind heavy barrage
By Brydon C. Taves, United Press staff writer
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Bearded old salt surprises mother; He’s George Flinn Jr.
Midway and Solomons veteran home on leave for Christmas
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Dead destroyer fires final torpedo salvo hits Jap battleship
Guadalcanal battle likened to barroom brawl with lights out and everybody swinging; Kentucky commander stands by until crew is taken off
By Frank Tremaine, United Press staff writer
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Christmas, 1942
Out of the silent night, the voice of an angel came to the shepherds:
Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.
Fear not! Frequently in the course of His life did the Son of God repeat these words. Others, speaking in His name, have carried the same reassurance to the troubled of every age. It is a message of comfort today to millions whose hearts, even in the midst of war, devastation and terror, are open in welcome to the King of Kings.
There will be no Christmas celebration in the concentration camps or in the starving villages of Europe; but the tidings of that day will be whispered in the familiar words of the Gospels; and even in the abyss of misery, men will pray with new courage for the reign of peace and goodwill.
We cannot reach these people with our gifts; not even with our words of good cheer. But Christian Americans will surely remember them in their prayers. The power of prayer is beyond imagining. As we pray for the suffering, let us remember that from the lowly cradle of Bethlehem, charity and peace came into the world. It will come again through the grace and mercy and Him who is the Father of all.
Considering the awful hardships and tragedies that engulf Europe, it may seem selfish for Americans to look forward to a season of bounty and conviviality. But that is to misrepresent the significance of Christmas, to overlook the things it stands for and that must survive no matter what catastrophe threatens.
For Christmas is the symbol of our faith in God and in mankind. It stands for the essential qualities that link men of every belief and race. It is the day of the Good Samaritan.
Strip it of its joyous externals – the gaily-lighted trees, the tuneful carols, the bright store windows, the busy rush to mail greeting cards – and underneath will be found the feeling of universal brotherhood, the wish to share with others the blessings that are ours. Christmas is the assurance that after the shadows have lifted from the world, peace and goodwill will again prevail.
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
WITH U.S. FORCES IN ALGERIA – Our troopship in convoy from England to Africa had a large hospital, and it was filled.
The long train rides in unheated cars across England seemed to give everybody a cold, and it was a poor man, indeed, who couldn’t sport a deathlike cough aboard ship.
We had two pneumonia cases, both of whom pulled through. I myself came down with one of the Ten Best Colds of 1942 the day after we got aboard, and spent the next five days in bed, feigning sickness.
But the ship was filled with Army doctors, so I had lozenges, injections and consultations, all without charge.
Our ship had never carried American troops before, and the British waiters were somewhat shocked by the appetites and the dining-room manners of the younger officers.
Second lieutenants, muscular and till growing, would order a complete second dinner after finishing the first. And in between times, they’d get up and serve themselves with bread, carry off their own plates, play loud tunes on their glasses with their forks, make rude jokes about the food, and generally conduct themselves in a manner unbecoming the dignity of a British cruise-ship waiter.
But I must say, on behalf of the British, that they finally broke down and entered into the spirit of the thing, and I think eventually enjoyed the Wild West camaraderie as much as the Americans did.
Meals are served in two sittings
Those of us in the cabins were awakened at 7 each morning by the cabin steward, bearing cups of hot tea. Meals were in two sittings, an hour apart. The headwaiter wore a tuxedo at dinnertime, and the food was excellent.
We had fried eggs and real bacon for breakfast every morning – the first real egg I’d tasted in four months. There was also tea in the afternoon, and sandwiches at night.
Smoking was prohibited in the dining room. The British waiters had a terrible time enforcing it, but finally succeeded. Apparently, it was just an old British custom.
There was a bar in the evening for soft drinks, but no liquor was sold. Some officers brought whisky aboard, but it was all gone after a day or two, and from then on, it was probably the driest ocean voyage ever made.
As someone wisecracked:
We catch it both ways. We can’t smoke in the dining room because it’s a British ship, and we can’t buy liquor because it’s an American trooper.
Of all the spots on earth where rumors run wild, I think a convoy trooper must lead, hands down. Scores of rumors a day floated about the ship. You got so you believed them all, or didn’t believe any.
Rumor started to end all rumors
It was rumored we would rendezvous with a big convoy from America; that an aircraft carrier had joined us; that we’d hit Gibraltar in six hours, 24 hours, two days; that the ship behind us was the West Point, the Mt. Vernon, the Monterey; that we were 80 miles off Portugal, and 200 miles off Bermuda. None of these turned out to be true.
The rumor-mongering got so rife that one officer made up a rumor to the effect that we were going to Casablanca, and timed it to see just how long it would take to encircle the ship. It came back to him, as cold fact right from the bridge, in just half an hour.
The third day out, we correspondents decided to start a daily paper. The colonel was all for it, and helped us round up paper and stencils. We published for four days and then ran out of stencils and had to suspend.
Sgt. Bob Neville, of Stars and Stripes, did most of the work. We carried the radio news each day, a little shipboard gossip column, a daily “exploded rumor” department, and some silly pieces by the correspondents.
Since we were not allowed to use the ship’s real name, the paper was called The P-58 Post, as that was our designated number in the convoy. Beneath the masthead was carried a motto: “All the Rumors Fit to Print.”
There was an unconfirmed rumor about the ship that it was a fairly rotten paper.