Letters, Jun. 19, 1944

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    Last night at the movies I saw a short telling us all about the wonderful patriotic work of our women who are releasing men for war service. I have seen any number of similar shorts extolling the virtues and patriotism of women in factories, shipyards, airplane shops, etc. (who are as a rule getting very high wages and occasionally going on strike), and the WACs, the WAVES, the SPARS and the women Marines, but never a word or picture of the Civil Service Women.

    There are thousands of women in the Civil Service with the Army and Navy who have come in for "the duration and six months after." They are releasing men and doing their work just as efficiently as any WAC, WAVE, SPAR or woman Marine. But no one hears about them. They get no credit; and they should, as the work they are doing is just as vital. They get no glamorous uniforms, no pictures and send-off in the papers when they join up. They have no housing and rations given them, no hospitalization (unless actually injured at work, not for flu, pneumonia, or other diseases). And when "the duration and six months after" is over, they are out, with no bonus pay, and no one trying to get a job for them. They are just OUT.

    These Civil Service Women are glad to do their part and are not asking for any glamor or publicity, but they do expect to have their services toward the winning of this war recognized along with the other women of this country.

    Louis CLARK

    Carmel, Calif.

    Thanks for the Pony Sirs: Congratulations, TIME! I received your May 15 edition here, "somewhere in Italy," on the 16th! This Pony Edition fills an important place in our lives here by letting us know what's going on back home and in the rest of the world outside our own tight little sphere before the news becomes cold and out of date.

    My copy goes to several other officers in my Headquarters, then to the Chaplain for general circulation. At least 25 people must read it, and I am sure its arrival is awaited by them as it is by me, with an eagerness second only to our "sugar reports" from home. LEO F. EPSTEIN c/o Postmaster New York City



    I am expressing you some fiddleheads. Fiddleheads, in case you are wondering, are the fronds of a particular type of bracken which grows on the islands of the St. John River. They are picked each spring by the Malicite Indians, and here in New Brunswick we regard them as a great delicacy. Hope you will too. They are cooked like spinach, until tender, and served well buttered, if you can find any butter these days. They go better with shad, salmon or alewives than anything else I know.

    Enclosed is Prof. DeMill's "Sweet Maiden of Quoddy," which gives you some idea of how many rivers we have to fish in this Province and what funny names they have:

    Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy,

    Shall we seek for communion of souls

    Where the deep Mississippi meanders

    Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls?

    Ah, no! In New Brunswick we'll find it,

    A sweetly sequestered nook

    Where the sweet gliding Skoodawabskookis

    Unites with the Skoodawabskook.

    Meduxnakik's waters are bluer,

    Nepisiguit's pools are more black,

    More green is the bright Oromocto,

    And browner the Petitcodiac.

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