207807 Pfc. Edward Louis "Robby" Robertson US Army from:Los Angeles, California, USA My step-father, Edward L. Robertson, joined the service in Los Angeles California in his early 20's, approximately 1942. I was only six or seven years old. He was stationed in Kentucky for boot camp. Mom visited him by train before he was shipped out to introduce him to his daughter who was only a few months old. His best friend and buddy all through his service was also a Pfc. Richard Robb. In his letters to mom in late 1943 he could only tell her they were shipping out from NY but he couldn't tell her where they were headed.
He sometimes spoke words in French, Italian and German that he had picked up over there. He talked about buddies’ feet turning black from frost bite from marching through snow and mud and not keeping their feet clean and dry as they were warned. I do remember that he, like all his buddies, brought many things like rings, cigarette cases, pins, badges, buttons, switch blades, knives and other things that they took off the dead German soldiers who were strewn all along the roads. After the war when friends came over to visit he would just give away what ever he brought.
The few things I remember are from his comments here and there and what I heard the grown-ups saying in conversations because when we asked him questions about his service he would start to talk then remembering terrible things (such as the suffering of women) he would always break down and sob. So we didn't ask very much. He passed away in the late 90's.
Often, while watching the Military channel, I listened and watched closely to see if I heard anything that sounded like where he was. He did mention Patton and Eisenhower and mentioned marching into Paris like in a parade.
Fortunately he was never wounded; came home without a scratch but he came home a "basket case." The whole family suffered from the effect war had on his mental condition. He couldn't hold a job for long because he would fly into uncontrolable tempers and was often physically abusive to my mother. In those days the VA hospital had no idea what was happening to our vets. So we learned to walk on egg shells.
If any one remembers him, my sisters and I would like to follow his service route from the time he left the USA until the time of his return home.
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