The Pittsburgh Press (July 28, 1942)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
LONDONDERRY, Northern Ireland (By Wireless) – When our sailors and Marines arrived here to take over our new naval base, things were only half finished. Everybody had to live as best he could.
For lack of better facilities, the officers lived in Nissen huts. Life in the main camp wasn’t so bad at that. Most of them could still take it without much grumbling. But the government began to make other arrangements.
Today the officers are scattered around in old country estates, farmhouses, grand town mansions, and some even downtown apartments.
Most of them are living in a half-world that would tickle you – a combination of bleak, castle-like splendor and whatever improvised home touches they can rassle up at this distance from America.
You can get the picture from the house where I am a guest. The house is old and dingy-looking outside, but a palace in its way.
It sits on a hillside, with a view somewhat like that from Mount Vernon. The grounds are huge. Down below are giant beech trees, wandering walks through shrubbery, and flower gardens. The whole thing is on a magnificent scale, but of many years ago.
The owner is now away, a fighting officer in the Allied armies. The house has been leased by our government. All except the essential basic furniture has been taken out.
The house has a great wide center hallway. At the far end is a grand staircase. There is a living room on each side of the hall. The officers seldom use more than one.
The dining room is an immense one, at the rear. The officers all eat together at a long table.
Nine officers, some Navy and some Marine, live in this mansion. Each man has a room of his own upstairs. And the rooms are immense. Each has a gas-log fireplace. There is no other heat, but the gas takes the chill off.
Some of the rooms have regular beds and wardrobes. Others are bare except for Army cots and tables.
Some of the officers feel that it isn’t worthwhile to add anything to take the bareness away. Others have scattered family photos on the mantle.
There were some bathrooms but not enough. So the upstairs end of the huge hall has been blocked off with beaverboard, and lavatories and hot showers put in.
Alongside the house is a newly built bomb shelter exactly the same as those in the camps. That is true of every house in which officers live.
Breakfast runs from 7 to 8:30. It is a good old American breakfast, too, with eggs and everything.
A little mimeographed newspaper gives the latest news received by wireless.
Typed at the top of it is, “For Navy personnel only; to be destroyed after reading.” But I have got to be such a thorough piece of Navy personnel myself that I read it without batting an eye, and nobody says anything. To tell the truth, there’s nothing in it that you wouldn’t find in American newspapers anyhow.
Immediately after breakfast, the officers leave for their respective camps. Some have been assigned cars of their own – Chevrolet sedans. Others go by groups in station wagons. Everybody is back for lunch at 12:15. They sit around for a half hour after lunch talking about their work and recalling funny yarns and famous naval characters.
Dinner is at 6:30. The officers usually get home in time to clean up first. Frequently there is a guest. It may be an American nurse, a British WREN, a local member of the Home Guard, or the dean of the cathedral – just anyone they want to invite.
The living room where they sit and talk for a while after dinner is bare except for a davenport, a few chairs and a big round table with some old newspapers on it. There is not a picture or an ashtray or a knickknack. But little enough time is spent there, so it makes no difference.
In the evenings one officer always has night duty at camp. Others go out. Some stay in their rooms and read or write letters home. Most have radios.
There is very little noise. The house is so big and thick-walled that you couldn’t hear a noise in another room if there was any.
The blackout curtains are drawn about 10 o’clock, though it is not dark till midnight. Marine sentries guard the house all night. Usually you can hear rain pattering on the trees when darkness finally comes.
It isn’t the best way in the world to live but it is pretty good for war. And as one officer said, “It’s a hell of a lot better than living on a destroyer in the North Atlantic.”