"Dear Mom"

In a recent widely published advertisement appeared this "letter," an advertising copy writer's idea of a G.I.'s dream:

"Dearest Mom: So old Bess has pups again. . . . She had her last litter two years ago -- just about this time of year --when everything was so fresh and new.

That's what I want to get back to ... that world back home where a fellow can give the sort of welcome he ought to give to a litter of setter pups in the spring. To watch them grow up with all the other new, young things in a world that's bright and free. . . . Your loving son, Bill." In Normandy the ad caught the eye of an insulted soldier writer for a service paper called Le Tomahawk, who raised a tomahawk and went to work.

"We think it's high time the copy writers learn that this war is being fought by grown men," he wrote. "We are fighting because our country is at war and for reasons which grown men understand. . . .

But since the public seems to think that soldiers are simple asses, drooling slush in the face of machine-gun fire, we offer the following copyrighted 'Dear Mom' letters direct from the front:

P: "Dear Mom: Well, here we are in Normandy. I saw a cute little piggy-wiggy today, Mom, and gracious was he cute. That's what I'm fighting for, Mom -- little piggy-wiggies and little ducky-wuckies and little lambie-wambies and, oh, just oodles of young, free things to brighten a brave new world. Your loving son, Joe.

P: "Dear Mom: We are camped in an orchard not far from Carentan that you've read about, Mom, and there are dairy cows grazing in our orchard and the peasants come right out in their wooden shoes and milk them, and Mom, one of the cows made fertilizer right where I put down my blankets. Golly, Mom, it sure smelt good and reminded me of you and Dad and old Muley. That's what I'm fighting for, Mom, a world in which there won't be no soldiers putting down their blankets right where old Muley wants to make fertilizer. Your loving son, Junior.

P: "Dear Mom: We were going through some hedgerows toward Saint-Lo today, Mom, and a German burp-gun got on me and I ducked in a ditch and set off a Teller mine, and a Tiger tank ran right over my ditch, and a squad of Boche infantry started heaving fragmentation grenades at me and I got to thinking, Mom, of old Bess and her about to have pups again, and Mom, we can't have them pups born into a world that ain't free and bright, can we, even if it's the way you said old Bess got out that night and was bred by that mongrel next door, so, Mom, I got right out of my ditch and fixed that tank good and proper, and also the burp-gun and the Boche infantry, and we will get this here war over, Mom, just as soon as we can for you and Dad and old Bess, and a better, brighter world for that little unborn litter. Your loving son, Henry."

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