My Dad In The War (Part Nine)

Christmas was a sentimental time for everybody.  Everybody was homesick, and Dad said that even listening to Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” would make most of the soldiers tear up, and some of them even cry.
     In 1941, on what would have been my father’s first Christmas away from his family, his father, Emilio Duchene, wrote to the commanding officer of the Medical Battalion, and asked if his son could receive a furlough for Christmas. I don’t have a copy of the letter my grandfather sent, but it must have been especially heartfelt, because Captain Robert J. Lanning wrote back on December 24th, “(I) am quite capable of appreciating your feelings.” The answer, however, was no. The Captain ended the letter assuring my grandfather that, “(Henry) will be perfectly all right during the Christmas Holidays (sic).”
     It rarely snows in El Paso, Texas, but my father must have understood perfectly the sentiment in Bing Crosby’s classic song. It must have been bittersweet for him to listen to that song so far from home.
     On another Christmas, this one even further from home, Dad and his platoon were in camp in the Philippines.  It had been raining for weeks, and the heat and humidity and mosquitoes were making everybody’s life miserable. Dad had never seen such big mosquitoes in his life.
     Dad was just resting when mail call was announced.  This was a big event for them.  Everybody gathered around, hoping to hear from love ones.  Dad was one of the lucky ones this time.  Not only did he receive mail, but he also received a Christmas package from his mom.  He knew it probably contained his favorite, a homemade date nut cake.
     All his friends gathered around him as he opened the package, everybody was hoping to benefit from Dad’s good fortune, but when he opened the package they were all disappointed.  It was a cake all right, but there was no telling what kind it was.  It was completely covered in mold.
     Dad, like the medic he was, slowly worked on the cake.  It was green, dry, and hard as a brick, but he dissected it.  Slowly. Carefully.  He was determined to find one tiny piece to eat, but it was useless.  The whole cake was moldy, inside and out.  There was nothing for him to do but throw it away.
     Food in the Philippines always came with its unique set of problems. Besides Army food not being good, Dad said that he and his fellow soldiers couldn’t even eat it in peace.  When they were served their meals, all the hungry Philippine children would gather around staring at them, begging for food. 
     Dad would sometimes just put his plate down for them to eat and walk away, still hungry.
   
   

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