Breaking Point
hayley ng | Fall 2022
Soldier Ward Writes Letters of Sympathy to Soldier Lunt’s Lover, Eleanor Davis
1944–1945
The National War History Museum’s upcoming exhibit, Letters During WWII, will contain recovered letters written by American soldiers. Letters sent home would normally have been screened and then censored for sensitive material by the Office of Censorship. In order to circumvent the censor, Soldier Joseph Ward wrote and hand-delivered letters to Soldier Charles Lunt’s lover, Eleanor Davis, in Maine during his leave to express his condolences and details of Lunt’s death. Eleanor Davis sent numerous letters over the next couple of months back to Ward during Ward’s redeployment, but all of them were unanswered due to Ward’s death during the Battle of Okinawa.
Read all of Ward’s letters (in order) in full below.
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“December 23, 1944
Dear Ms. Davis, I imagine that by the time you receive this letter, you will have already been notified of Charles’ dea [small tear in the paper] death. I already intend to travel up to Maine once the war is over to deliver my letter to avoid the censor. I only hope that by the time I arrive, you have not moved and that you would be willing to hear me out. As someone who looksed up to Charlie and thought of him as a brother in all but blood, I hope that my letter may provide you some comfort.
As Charlie may have told you, both he and I, as part of the 78th infantry division, fought in the recent Battle of Hürtgen Forest, or at least that is what they are calling it. People keep saying that that battle had been the longest one ever fought by our army, but I find that hard to believe when, after every battle, people around us me keep saying that that battle had been the longest.
I will concede the fact, however, that this battle had been one of the harshest our platoon has experienced. The Germans were more familiar with the area than we were, placing us at a disadvantage. It was easy to get lost in the chaos, so I do not remember all that occurred, but know that Charlie fought hard before he di to the very end before
[unsteady handwriting] a German mortar struck our position, killing him instantly, and painlessly.
You should be proud for Charlie was an excellent soldier, both in and out of battle. Most of us, myself included, trusted Charlie as much as he trusted us and words cannot describe how sorry I am about this tremendous loss. Until the war is over, I do not imagine that I will be able to return to America any time soon. Regretfully, I must end the letter here for it appears my hand is struggling to grip the pencil, perhaps from lack of sleep or some unknown illness.
With Deepest Sym—[word partially smudged], Joseph Ward”
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“January 13th, 1945
Dear Ms. Davis, I should begin by describing my situation: the rain stopped an hour ago, a bit before the sun broke through the horizon. Nearby, soldiers upturn their boots to pour out the mud and rainwater, cursing our terrible luck right befo[re] [water stain] to leave. I, myself, am trying to stay dry by sitting upon this half-empty ammo crate while using George’s canteen to write against since it was within reach and mine is full of bullet holes.
I feel it significa[nt] [water stain] [des]cribe this moment in time to you because this marks the first time our letters came but Charlie is not here. I saw them pass over your letters when they were handing them out. If Charlie were here, he would hav[e] [water stain] [b]y the distributor until they got to your letters. He would have taken care not to tear the envelope flap when opening it. He would have read your letter once, then twice, then stare at it, thinking about what to write back. Usually, [unsteady handwriting] he would tell me, with the glee of a schoolboy telling his schoolmates about his first kiss, what you wrote in those letters—nothing too embarrassing, do not worry. Sometimes he would ask for my input on what he wrote to ensure that it was not too frightening.
But today is not one of those days. Because Char[lie] [water stain] [h]ere.
Until I arrive back in America, [handwriting returns to normal] I thought that it might perhaps interest you to know what was going on in [written faintly] the time after Charl Cha. At the very least, if I were to close my eyes, the sound of my pencil against paper
may fool me into thinking that it was not I, but Charlie, sitting beside me, writing letters to you.
Joseph Ward”
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“February 6th, 1945
Dear Ms. Davis, I hear soldiers talking about a point system that would determine who would get sent home first. You could apparently get more points if you have a family waiting at home, have been overseas for a while, or have been in a lot of battles. I bet Charlie would [unsteady handwriting] have jumped been ecstatic if he heard about this; he was always talking about how he wished to be with you again once the [illegible word struck out] was over. I am confident he would have been among the first to leave too. He was, after all, here for longer than I was—I only joined two years ago, right after they let high school students join.
[handwriting returns to normal] As for myself, I have no children of my own, nor have I seen enough action to say that I deserve more points than some of the other soldiers who have also been fighting longer. I imagine it will be a while before I can return. I pray, even though I know my prayers will not reach you, that you can bear to wait just a little longer for my letters, though I imagine that would not be a problem for you, if Charlie is was truthful about your patient demeanor.
[Several lines of text had been crossed out] I hesitate over including this in fear of frightening you, but I feel it just that you know the truth. I wrote in my first letter that I struggled to remember the events of the Battle of Hürtgen Forest, but truthfully, that was an understatement. Some of my [unsteady handwriting] memories from the battle have only just started returning these past couple of months. I realize I had given you a brief, but inaccurate account of the [handwriting grows more shaky] circumstances surrounding Charlie’s death. I said that Charlie had died instantaneously when the mortar struck, but he only got hit because he pushed me away. If Charlie had not don It took 2 8? 4 minutes before he bled out. Please forgive me C. I hope you will
[bottom half of the letter is illegible]”
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“March 2 4th, 19445
Dear Ms. Davis, a mortar nearly struck me the other day and I had thought it had somehow took my legs out until George [unsteady handwriting] pulled me back to my feet. I realize that my legs had simply given out when I heard the mortar. George thinks I have become ill and should go report it, but I [shrapnel burn] sudden fall is attributed to my lack of sleep. Truthfully, my sleep has been plagued by nightmares these past few months. I can never recall what nightmares I [shrapnel burn] have them if my waking [shrapnel burn] of the night in a cold sweat is any indication.
I feel an obligation [shrapnel burn] no matter how painful it may be to recall what happened that day, what happened [shrapnel burn] minutes Charlie was bleeding out. [Several lines of text have been heavily crossed out] I was trying to reach yo him to try [shrapnel burn] a nearby fox hole but he was too far [shrapnel burn] Germans were basically on top of [shrapnel burn] didn’t look good but I [shrapnel burn] for a medic but there were so many wounded [shrapnel burn] all busy.”
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“[unsteady handwriting] December 2nd 5th 6th? 7th, 1944
Char Ms Davis I ran out of my foxhol[e] when I felt something hot pepper my leg. I am falling fell but used a fallen tree as cover to crawl to where Charlie is was is why did he have to push m I should ha
Charlie I am He Everyone is screaming
Ms Davis He looked at me with no eyes and asked me to tell you if I was hurt because he can’t hear”
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“December 7th, 19[water stain]
Ms Davis I held his upper half as he di[ed] [water stain] [bec]ause the other half was still sloughing of[f] [water stain] [tre]es”
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“April 3rd, 1945
Dear Ms. Davis, They said I could go home immediately if I agreed to transfer to the Pacific theater. Five years ago, at the start of this accursed war, I could never imagine
how a man would ever say no to such a proposition. Five months ago, I understood why a man would never, in his right mind, say yes. But I am beginning to suspect that George was right, that I am ill, and that, perhaps, I am no longer of sound mind.
I am on the train to Maine as I write this final letter—to my left, were I to look out the window, I am sure I would grow tearful at seeing the beautiful landscape passing by. But as of now I cannot bring myself to look away from this paper. Once I arrive, I shall drop these letters off in your mailbox. By the time you open your mailbox and see these letters, I will likely be on my way home to Virginia to spend time with my mother before I get redeployed. The medics said that I am still fit for battle, though I can hardly see how that might be given how shaky my aim is now, how slow I must write to make my handwriting legible, and the darkening shadows beneath my eyes. I hope that whatever ails me will go away sooner rather than later.
If you wish to send any letters, I will be open to receiving them, however reluctant I may be to answer. Not because I find you dreadful (from the letters you sent to him, you seem to be a wonderful person), but because I feel inadequate to talk anymore about him. But regardless of how I may feel, I was the only one with him in his last moments, so if I can help you through your grief, please let me know.
Sincerely, Joseph Ward”