Home Thoughts from Abroad

Mrs Evelyn Lester
The Pines
Cricklemead
Bishops Waltham
Hants
England, UK

Sunday, 9thMarch 1952

M.A.S.H 4077th, somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Dearest Mother,

Well, another missive from your darling daughter here in the darkest depths of Korea. The weather here has changed dramatically over the last few months and we are now in the grips of a horrendously cold winter which threatens to turn us all to frozen blocks of ice in our beds at night. I woke up in the middle of the night last night convinced something was eating my foot, such was the pain I could feel. On checking, I discovered that my foot had found its way outside my 3 sleeping bags (darling Radar can be terrible creative with his requisition orders!) and was, in fact, being gnawed upon by Jack Frost. Luckily, my frostbite wasn't too severe, although I am thinking of writing to Hillary in order to advise him ahead of his attempt on Everest. It's even colder than Hastings Beach, which is saying something!

Life here, however, continues as normal. How strange it must be for you to read that phrase, Mother! Normal! How can living in a tent with 3 men, whilst periodically being called to rebuild the youth of another nation be considered normal? But that is what it has become, Mother. I am rapidly becoming accustomed to the vagaries of life as a M.A.S.H surgeon. There is one simple reason for this resignation to fate, and that is if I didn't I may well go mad. It helps, however, that the people around me are kind and honest men and women who have had, in the most cases, less choice than I have over their current predicament.

I am talking, naturally, of my room mates. I know Daddy was less than impressed by the idea of me sharing with men, but I feel perfectly safe here. I think the arrangement has been successful for everyone. I have been spared the embarrassment of sharing with Major Houlihan (who I am sure would have had me on report for not taking my socks off before getting into bed), and they have someone who is happy to fold their washing and place it somewhere other than the floor. Not that I am becoming their laundry maid, I hasten to add. In fact, Hawkeye has taken to balling up his own socks each evening and as a result the rest of us no longer discover, on reaching for our socks each morning, that they have been acquired by our Chief Surgeon when he couldn't find his own! I am sure you would love all three of them should you ever have the chance to meet them. There are times when I feel so desperately sorry for them all, given that they have had no choice in whether or not they take part in this war or not. You cannot imagine how hard it is for a man who has dedicated his life to saving others and easing suffering to suddenly find himself a cog in a machine which causes that suffering on a catastrophic scale. Hawkeye is the most sarcastic man you will ever find, and there are times when you wonder if he is capable of adult conversation without lapsing into another zany comedy routine. But there are other times, one night last week for example, when we can sit up and talk for hours about this unholy war, or 'Police Action' as the politicians like to call it. I asked him how he coped with knowing that his country had sent him, and others like him, to Korea knowing full well they could be killed. His reply was that he can cope with his being sent here, but he finds it harder to accept the propaganda (and that is the only word for it) which is persuading thousands of young American men to sign up and be sent to this death camp. They arrive here on planes like lemmings, full of ideas of the glory of death in battle and the excitement of killing the enemy. By the time they reach us, they've had their naivety knocked out of them by several rounds of bullets and a good dose of shrapnel. And when we're presented with these terrified and traumatised young men, what are we asked to do? Our training as Doctors means we do our very best to return these men to the health they were in before their mis-adventure with ammunition. Except the paradox we face is that our skills as surgeons and our ability to heal their wounds mean that these young men will soon find themselves back on the front line taking more bullets in the name of a cause which most of them, uneducated as they are, will never fully understand. Indeed, those of us who are educated cannot understand. How can I, as a Doctor committed to saving lives, accept my part in the wasting of so many? And these are views which I share with both Hawk and BJ. Poor BJ, he has left a wife and young child to come here. And although there is no immediate danger to us here, you can see in his eyes the fear when an assignment comes up outside the safety of the camp. He is not a coward, but he is scared what will happen to his family should anything happen to him. The thought of your own daughter never knowing you must be awful, and I can understand why it keeps him awake at night. When he cannot sleep, I know he writes letters home to Erin which he has given to Father Mulcahy should anything untoward happen. How awful that must be for him, and I would do anything to give him the chance to go home. But until this farce is over, it is looking more and more likely that most people in our company are here for the duration.

Father Mulcahy is a source of comfort for many in camp, however. And I'm so proud to count him as probably my best friend. Daddy may have had reservations about priests, but honestly he's the least priestly Priest I have ever encountered! He's a champion boxer for a start, (which I know would please Daddy) and he's quite musically talented too. In fact, that's how we became friends. We've begun a choir for the local children at the orphanage nearby, which is going a long way to helping rehabilitate these little ones after the horrors they have faced. There are so many children who have lost their parents, either through death or simply being separated under enemy attacks. And there is another, more disturbing phenomenon of abandoned babies which have been fathered by American servicemen. These 'GI Babies' are abandoned by their mothers and face a life of uncertainty and rejection. John (that's Father Mulcahy – I call him that because it seems such a fuss to say 'Father' every time we have a conversation, and John is his given name) told me about the child that was abandoned at the 4077th shortly before I arrived. It worries both of us to think what will happen to these children once military interest in Korea wanes. They will become the forgotten generation. It's so sad, I would bring them home if I could but that won't be happening for some time yet.

Well Mother, I will have to bid you farewell for now. I'm due to begin duty in post-op shortly. We've had fairly heavy casualties over the past few weeks and just the hour I've had to compose this letter to you has been an unexpected treat. Once my shift has finished I will be off to the orphanage with John to sing with the children. I really enjoy my trips there – to see these timid little beings grow in confidence because of John's care and attention to them really helps me get through this whole situation. Give my love to Julian, and please thank him for the book of poetry which he sent. It has been round most of the camp now and Hawkeye enjoyed it especially. I copied out 'Dulce et Decorum Est' for him as a birthday present last week as it was a favourite. He is so funny, Mother! His reply on reading the poem was "He (Owen) must have liked a martini – they're never sweet in battle either" as he took another drink from the still!

And that really is the end of my letter. Your gift of tea was most appreciated, and I'm looking forward tohearing from you soon.And I send this letter, as always, with much love to you and everyone in my beautiful little corner of England.

Your loving daughter, Sally