Robert L. Sickler

FOX HOLE LETTER Written by 1st Lt. Robert L. Sickler
Page 1	October 8, 1944 Hello Folks, I’m writing this in a fox hole, in what I think I can safely say is the hottest spot in Holland – and I’m making no reference to the weather. I haven’t had my boots of since Sept 15. I am afraid that when I do take them of my feet are going to come right off with them. But when things do slow down long enough to warrant it I’m getting into a pair of your socks which I’ve been carrying with me since we jumped. As any news mag will indicate we have been support or should I say spearheading the British drive into this sector. I’ve seen and am still participating in action aplenty and have accumulated experiences that would provide enough material for twenty books. Come what may I don’t think I shall ever regret being a member of the greatest combat team in the history of the world. This last year - the last few months in particular have been the most interesting of my whole life and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. No amount of money nor any camera could ever capture or record all of it, some of which would actually strain your imagination. My boys have done a remarkable job and you can guess how proud of them I am. General Gavin personally congratulated us and when a General takes the trouble to personally commend a single platoon you can bet your pride is justified.
Page 2	He’s given me a blank check to fill out for promotions and citations in the platoon and you can bet I’m not going to be bashful in getting these boys the limit. I just this minute received my mail among which is your letter of Sept 29. That’s what I all service. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write sooner but circumstances just haven’t permitted it. I think that of all the places I’ve ever been, Holland is the most beautiful. You can’t help but love the country and its people, in spite of the terrible devastation. These folk have suffered cruelly under the German regime and have never forgotten that they were Dutch. The day we jumped every loyal Dutchman wore a flower or a ribbon of bright orange (a sign of Dutch loyalty since the days of William of Orange) . Many paid for their display of loyalty with their lives because Germans shot them down on sight. Liberation to these people is a very real thing and never have I seen such a sincere display of gratitude. Many of them lost their lives in the fighting trying to help in all kinds of little ways and getting in the way. If I ever have a honeymoon this is the place I’d want to spend it. There’s no such thing as a slum district here. The poorest peasant’s home is beautiful, and clean beyond imagination. The educational standard is also very high and it’s amazing the number of children who speak good English as it is a required subject in all schools.
Page 3	The Germans are paying heavily for their crimes but there always seems to be more no matter how many you kill. Don’t misunderstand me, they are good soldiers and fight well, but they are fighting a battle they can’t win. I have a great admiration and respect for the German as a solder, but as a member of the human race I hate and detest him. They have absolutely no compassion in their souls for anyone or anything except their own hides. They can kill a helpless man without twitching a muscle, but when they realize that their turn has come they squeal like a bunch of pigs at a hog-killing. It does a man’s soul good to hear them. I have yet to one of my boys squeal – they know how to die – I’ve heard them grunt from the surprise and initial shock and maybe moan a little from pain, but I’ve never heard one scream or squeal. I’m enclosing a little German and Holland money as souvenirs – yes it came off of dead men but they can’t spend it where they’re going. I have quite a collection of souvenirs if I can get them home. I have a beautiful pair of large wide vision 6 power glasses – a .25 caliber pistol – a gold pocket watch – Schmeisser automatic pistol (German equivalent of our Tommy gun) and a number of trinkets and German insignia to say nothing of a small pair of genuine wooden shoes that even smell like feet.
Page 4	I’m sure you’d like Pat, my English girl friend. She’s 28 – neat as a pin – has a fine sense of values – can wear clothes like nobody’s business (kind of like Elsie) - and we have a great deal in common. I’m thinking seriously of coming back and marrying her one of these days, when I give my attention to personal matters again and can go to work on having a fuller life without figuring out how best to snuff out someone else. Folks, I’m not being bashful when I don’t enter a request with each letter as you suggest – it’s just that things that I need or want most are thing you can’t send, like a bath, shave, shampoo, clean clothes and a bottle of whiskey. When this thing is over I’m going to take a hot bath, crawl between clean white sheets and take one long look at the floor because I’m not going to see anything but the ceiling for about three weeks. Then I’m going to get up, get a big steak, get drunker’n a hooty owl and do the same thing all over again. Whoops! Here come those screaming Meemies and 88’s again. I think I’ll make this hole a little deeper. So long for now. All my love, Bob P.S. My ducking has improved considerably since Normandy.