Category: War

For what purpose the WAC?
Oh, they’re neat, and they’re trim,
And they make cuter soldiers than could any him;
But where is the lack
Justifying the WAC?

I know each takes her place
In a male soldier’s chair,
So he’ll, maybe, be able to go over there:
This may do, on the face,
But it’s not the whole case.

For, alas and alack–
A civilian, I,
I can meet any service-man’s gaze, if I try–
But I’m taken aback:
I can’t out-stare a WAC!

My conscience within
Can’t withstand the attack
As I take in her cap and her purse-haversack;
And I think “What a sin–
I am OUT, and she’s IN!”

I pause; I go back:
“Couldst direct me, 0 Damsel in neat khaki suiting,
To the very nearest station that does the recruiting?”
That’s what purpose the WAC!
For we 1ve an army of practically eight million men,
And the WAC has accounted for six out of ten!*
Pardon me, while I pack…

*Selective Service has made its influence felt here, too.

by Ray Romine Sunday, September 19, 1943

So you hafta fight for butter,
And you hafta fight for meat?
And you think it’s hell to hafta fight
To get enough to eat?

So you have a ration-booklet,
And you part with points and cash;
And. the cost of living’s soaring,
So you live on beans and hash?

(That is, if you have the points for beans–
And hash contains SOME meat).
Well, there won’t be indigestion
Just because we over-eat.

And we’re still not in the battle
Like those Yankees in the trench,
‘Tho it may seem so to Hitler
From the way we raise a stench.

But the boys who died on Midway,
Or on Guadalcanal or Wake,
Didn’t stop to argue who’d go first:
Bob, or Earl, or Jake.

They died because they placed their lives
Below the good of all;
Let’s follow along with rationing–
OUR chance to lug the ball!

by Ray Romine Friday, April 9, 1943

Said one boy, “Let’s play like we’re men;
I’ll bust you wide open, and then
I’ll bounce off you, yessir,
And brand you aggressor,
And grow up to make the U.N!

by Ray Romine Friday, January 26, 1951

If post-war plans we hear about
Are any indication,
The Yank returned from overseas
Won’t recognize his nation.

With what we’ve lend-leased: U.S. tools,
Our plans, our beef, our shoes, too,
He’ll have to move abroad to find
The sort of life he’s used to!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 13, 1944

Don’t say those unclean things, old bean
About your Ration Board;
The bulwark, it, of our cuisine,
And things we can’t afford.

by Ray Romine Thursday, March 30, 1944

You think your Ration Board is mean?
Bear up, old chap–be brave:
I’m sure they’ll grant you gasoline
To get from Church to Grave!

by Ray Romine Thursday, March 30, 1944

Since first I trekked across this stage,
Oh, MANY years ago,
A chap my folks call Santa Claus
Would always steal the show
Along about this time of year–
But this year someone new
Is filling my horizon up,
Which I DON’T LIKE–would you?

A “stinker”, daddy calls this man,
And he is full of lice–
(He’s lousy, DADDY says), like SPOT,
But SPOT is very nice!
And Santa was so jolly fat–
This one is dark and lean;
He has a little false moustache
In pictures I have seen.

Mummy says because of him
There won’t be many toys:
They need the tin and iron for guns
That make a lot of NOISE.
I think those AXIS ones have sunk
So awf’ly low because
They never were brought up to b’lieve
In dear old Senta Claus!

My daddy may be taken yet,
Which makes me pretty low–
But I’m SURE he’ll help bring SANTA back,
So I may let him go!
My daddy and my toys, to me,
Seems like an AWFUL PRICE:
To win this war, I guess we ALL
Must make SOME SACRIFICEl

by Ray Romine Wednesday, October 7, 1942

Thank you, dear, so far away,
For your welcome letter;
Yes, it only came today–
Tonight I’m feeling better.

Little things we used to share,
Things we did together–
Only letters can compare,
They’re our only tether.

I was careless then, I fear,
A kind of song-and-dancer–
I’ve something now to live for, dear:
DON’T FORGET TO ANSWER!
10-8-1942

Revised 9-3-43:
Thank you, dear, so far away,
For your welcome letter;
Yes, it only came today–
Tonight I’m feeling better.

Little things we used to share,
Times we had together–
Letters fill the gap from there,
Till this storm we weather.

I was, before the time of strife,
A kind of song-and-dancer;
I’ve since, though, found an aim in life:
Our letters, dear–please answer!

by Ray Romine Thursday, October 8, 1942